The Island
by squeekness
Summary: Book one of my Twilight series. Nick Fury asks Logan to help him stop some drug traffickers. Logan agrees but when he goes on the mission, gets a lot more than he ever bargained for, including a trip to another dimension! Features Logan and Gambit.
1. Chapter 1

Summary : Book one of my Twilight series. Nick Fury asks Logan to help him stop some drug traffickers. Logan agrees but when he goes on the mission, gets a lot more than he ever bargained for, including a trip to another dimension! Oh, my! Features Logan and Gambit. Beast will appear later in the series as well.

Notes: This story takes place in Kimbleverse – wait! Don't run away, screaming. There is an introduction provided below for those of you who haven't read any of my previous work. :)

Rated M for profanity, violence and some sexual content.

Disclaimer : I do not own the X-men or any of their associated villains, but all of the Siskans, the Dognan, Jael and the Outkasts, and any of the characters that are involved with the Twilight dimension are mine. Please do not use them without my permission. Thanks. :)

This is an illustrated work ( I know I said I wasn't going to draw for it but I couldn't help myself..hee!) and the art is or will be available soon on my website which you can get to by clicking on my profile. I anticipate that this book will have four chapters, a new one each week if all goes well.

This will be the first book of a three or four book series. While the chapters should go up weekly, there will most likely be some big breaks between the books. (My transition from working part time to full time still isn't going that well, even though it has been a few months already. Sigh...) I don't want to start posting a book, only to have to go back and revise something I had posted earlier.

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(Introduction)

Howdy, peoples! I am writing this introduction for those of you who happened to click on this wondering what it and the Kimbleverse is all about. Well, a while back I began posting a long fanfiction that involved both the X-men and some characters of my own creation, most notably my own dear Kimble.

Bah, you say! Who needs OCs (other characters) anyway! Well, take into consideration that technically any new X-men after Giant Sized #1 could be considered an OC, they are not part of the original team after all. That would include some pretty big names – Kitty Pryde, **Gambit**, Cable, Bishop, Maggot, Marrow, Psyclocke, all the Gen M kids. Are you getting the idea now? Yes, this story has a few OCs, but I'm asking you to let them pass or fail on their own merits, not because they are not original X-men.

My stories are kinda long, but they are Gambit, Beast and Wolverine heavy throughout so that should hopefully make up for it, LOL.

For those of you read comics regularly, Kimbleverse isn't all that far from our familiar 616 but I have made a few small changes, making it different enough that I have dubbed my little realm Kimbleverse. (Because I began writing this stuff ages ago, this universe ignores much of current Marvel continuity, including House of M, Civil War, the lame ass Gambit/Death Horseman Milligan disaster, and unfortunately the delightful Wolverine Lupine arc by Jeff Loeb that began long after I had already written most of this.)

What the heck what went on in this crazy Kimbleverse you might ask? Well, it began about nine years ago when three X-men –-- Beast, Wolverine and Gambit – got kidnapped by offworld slavers called the Dognan and were taken away to another world. They had some adventures there and made some new friends. They were eventually rescued and returned safely, but they brought along with them some of those new friends, including two Siskan Courtesans named Kimble and Seth.

What's a Siskan Courtesan? Well, some Siskan inventors created elaborate holograms not unlike those the X-men use in their Danger Room training sessions. These holograms were solid and real, serving as household staff and meeting their Master's needs – whatever they might be. Sexually skilled and compliant, they were highly prized and sought after.

As holograms, these Siskans were realistic to the touch, constructed of gel and three floating star drives within that controlled their memories, skills, and appearance. They fed on energy provided by power cubes or sometimes from other sources. They can feed on kinetic energy or in some cases, plasma derived from the sun itself. They can eat tiny portions of organic food and drink, loving anything that is sweet or spicy.

Every once in a while, when a batch of these Siskans was made, one or two might come out differently. The Makers would call them defective, but what really happened was that they were far more self aware than the regular Courtesans, they were sentient and very much alive. They were also empaths to various degrees. The Makers called them the Lushna-esk, the holograms that could "feel". When discovered, the Lushna-esk were most often destroyed, but every once in a while, one of them would escape detection and be let out into the world.

Kimble and Seth were Lushna-esk Courtesans, but not by accident. Instead, they came from a special clutch of Courtesans that were created for a special purpose – the Game. All the Courtesans involved were Lushna-esk by deliberate design and they were scattered not long after they were made. The goal of the Game was to find as many of these special Courtesans as you could, a sort of scavenger hunt that took place across an entire galaxy. Each Courtesan was fated to find an angel, an object of some value. The more angels a Master might collect, the stronger he would become.

Kimble and Seth fell into the hands of the X-men by accident and were given a home with them where they were well cared for. Later the X-men would learn of the Game and that it would be finished on their world of all places. They also learned that the Courtesans from that special clutch included six Courtesans with unique enhancements. They were called Rogues and Kimble was included in that six.

The Game was played on Earth and concluded at an underground Complex that had been specially made by Charles Xavier in an Industrial Park in Arizona. Jael, a Dognan half breed terrorist and the X-men's primary opponent in the Game, was defeated. Survivors of his crew have vowed revenge.

As the Game was played, the X-men met and acquired some of the other Rogues. All the Courtesans in the Game are specially marked with large tattoos that show their rank and standing. The six Rogues all have individual colors that none of the others share. There is Kimble the Purple, Skye the Yellow, Asher the Grey, Star the Orange and Simone the White.

All the Siskan Rogues have unique abilities and as we discovered in my last installment, Simone has a talent for opening up doors that lead to other worlds, possibly even other dimensions. Leroy, a faun he met and befriended through one such doorway, begged for his help and Simone agreed, daring to pass through the doorway for the first time after years of observing only. We have yet to learn of his fate.

I hope this little intro brings everyone back up to speed, I tried to keep it brief. It only just scratches the surface of what went on before this story takes place. There will be additional recap material as needed as we go along, I beg the forgiveness from those who have already read all my other stories. You guys can just skim over it here and there, LOL. For those of you who are new, I hope that this introduction and the story that follows is enough to make you consider reading the stories that led up to this one. Don't be afraid, I don't bite... :)

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(One)

Simone slid across the cool tiles of Rogue's bathroom floor, the floor that belonged to his dear and loving Mistress, dragging his ruined legs behind him. He was sloppy and slithering, lubricated with his own gel blood as he eased his now useless body from the doorway he'd conjured up from Leroy's world, from Twilight, and back into the here and now.

This wasn't the first time he'd gone through the door to Twilight. No, that first trip had been made weeks ago now and there had been many more since, but this latest trip might well be his last, he was thinking. He'd been shot, his legs riddled with bullets from pursuers that had shown him no mercy.

Simone panted as he struggled to move, watching as his grey gel blood dripped from an additional large, ugly laceration on his forehead down to the floor. He was no human, he was a Siskan Courtesan, a creature technically not even alive by most folks' standards. He didn't look remotely human anyhow – his skin was a rich ebony black, the only exception was a band of white that crossed his eyes, a bandit in reverse. He also had a huge elaborate tattoo that covered most of his upper torso -- a white winged woman lying seductively along the blade of a large sword. Like the woman on his chest, large black feathery wings sprouted from Simone's own back, glistening with red and blue highlights. Normally those wings were lovely and a delight to behold. At the moment they hung from him in tatters, splashed with his fluids and leaving a trail of broken plumage behind him.

Simone hauled his feet through the door from Twilight and watched as the door then vaporized and ghosted away, leaving him alone and wrecked on the bathroom floor. Left alone to deal with the misery of still being alive. "M-Mistress!" he gasped, hoping she might come to his rescue.

Of course, that was the trouble with traveling from one dimension to the next – time gets funny. He had no idea how long he'd been gone. He knew he had been in Twilight for hours, but here, well, he'd probably been gone only a few minutes. Rogue had just left him to go to work when he first passed through that door, she wouldn't even have known he was gone. She was working half shifts now, never leaving him for long, but it was probably still too soon for her to return.

"Mistress!" he bawled out now anyhow, like an injured child to its mother, his voice raw and shaking. Most Siskan Courtesans preferred to be owned and cared for. To Simone, his Mistress was his lifeline, his safety, his security, his most precious love. Siskans in their truest rawest form were children indeed and now poor Simone had been laid bare by his pain. "Helps me! Helps me, please...!"

There was no answer.

Simone thumped his head to the floor, his big shoulders shaking as he sobbed. This had all gone so horribly wrong and now he was going to die. His story would end here in a pool of gel blood, blood that was already shimmering away as it cooled.

In spite of how Simone thought this story might possibly end, it had actually started a few hours earlier and not even with him. It had really begun with a phone call...

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Some people say that things just happen randomly. Little flights of fancy that happen on nature's whim. But these days, Logan was thinking, there really were no coincidences at all. The way things just kept falling into place there had to be some sort of reason behind it all – being kidnapped by the Dognan all those years ago, finding all these Siskans scattered about, especially one that could open those pesky magic little doors. It couldn't have all come about purely by chance... could it?

Of course, Logan had not yet pieced all these little things together when this particular little caper began. It started out simply enough with Nick Fury of SHIELD calling him and asking him for a favor. Just one little thing. But oftentimes, that one little thing turns into a great big fat one – just like this one did.

Logan had walked into one of the many meeting rooms of the Complex, not sure what to expect. He had just received a phone call from Nick Fury, head of SHIELD, saying that he was here at the Complex and had come looking for him specifically. They hadn't seen each other since the conclusion of the Game some months ago and Logan had no idea what the guy wanted. Probably not to gloat some more for taking all the credit for Jael's demise, Logan surmised, it had been too long now for that.

Logan was surprised to see the Professor there in the room as well, pouring coffee. It wasn't often that Charles was also invited to these sort of meetings. Usually if Nick wanted a favor from Logan, it meant sneaking and bloodshed would probably be involved. In that case, it was better to keep Charles and his X-men out of it. Couldn't have their hands getting dirty or anything. Seeing Charles here raised Wolverine's suspicions that this was going to a bit more complicated than what Nick had briefly suggested over the phone.

Nick looked pretty much the same as always, tall and uniformed. He was dressed in full SHIELD black including an eye patch over one eye, a casualty of the rough life the man had led. He was an older man, in his fifties with a bit of grey at the temples, but still in good fighting shape. He hadn't come alone, there was an aide with some papers who was setting up packets of information, ones with plenty of photo documentation.

"Oh, good," Logan joked as he helped himself to the coffee. "..we get pictures today."

"Anything to make it easier for you less educated types," Fury teased in return. He was his usual, 'all business' self as he continued, "As you know, we've been having a heck of a time with this substance Honey that's been hitting the streets pretty hard."

It was true. The drug hadn't been available long, just a few short weeks, but it was already a huge problem. Honey was a strange golden liquid that was drunk in small amounts, intoxicating the user immediately. It was sold in tiny glass vials, a mere mouthful was all it took to get the job done. In normal humans the effect was a drunken, stuporous high that could last for days. It was highly addictive, worse than Crack. It was also in short supply, driving the junkies crazy. They would steal, rape, shoot to kill for it. The recent uprise in violent crime was alarming.

Sadly, with mutants, use of this product was deadly. It made their current mutation evolve into a hideous secondary manifestation, often more than the body could safely withstand. It was almost always fatal, but for some, it was a sort of temporary power boost. Those who were badly misinformed about it often sought it out only to find their own death. The X-men were already working on the case -- the X-men's big blue doctor, Henry McCoy, was testing the substance for its properties even as they spoke, trying to discover just where it was coming from. So far, Henry had no answers.

Logan nodded, answering, "Yeah, I hear it makes muties crazy. Right before it kills them."

"Well, we think we might have found the source."

"Then do a raid," Logan suggested wryly. The X-men were more like police, not drug enforcement. It would take more than a simple invite to get him involved. He had no desire to get caught up in a case where there was sure to be more than one government agency involved besides SHIELD. Too messy. Not that Logan cared about messy, but with Charles here, it was the X-men being asked to help, not just Logan himself.

Fury knew about Wolverine's reservations so he was quick to explain, "It's a bit more complicated than that. Our testers have analyzed the Honey and since it is an organic substance that is pure and unrefined in any way, we suspect that it may come from a mutant source. None of our botanists can classify it. They only know that it is organically produced. It is either from some plant we've never seen before – something unlikely – or it's from a mutant."

Logan cursed softly and shook his head. This wasn't the first time they had discovered substances secreted from mutants sold this way. Most of the time the X-men or SHIELD got lucky and could shut those sources down. Hopefully they could do so here again here if that was the case.

Fury continued, "Our discovery of the source is an indirect one. We've tied the source of the Honey with a man named Frost."

Charles arched an eyebrow. "Jason Frost?"

"Yes. Why?"

"He's been on our watch list for some time. Until recently he ran a anti-mutant hate group called The Brotherhood of Righteousness for a time. He claimed that mutants were sent by the Devil and must be eradicated. He was quite active but then suddenly shut down operations a few weeks ago."

"Right when the Honey started showing up," Logan finished for him, doing the math in his head.

"That's right," Fury replied in agreement. "And I don't think it is a coincidence."

"What makes you so certain Jason Frost is involved?" Charles questioned.

"We picked up a couple of guys selling the stuff - Patrick Johnson and Paul Shwartz, two guys that had been bodyguards for Frost. We interrogated them and after some not so gentle persuasion, they gave up the location where the stuff is being sold from. It's a warehouse on Dockside. The third name on the lease is Frost's. It's close enough to warrant checking out."

"Dockside?" Charles mused to himself. "There has been an increase in mutant kids going missing from that area. Mostly from street gangs. If Frost has some sort of base of operations there, these disappearances might be connected."

"I know," Fury answered, just a hint of a smug smile on his lips.

"Why would SHIELD be interested in missing mutant street kids?" Charles snapped to that, a bit irritated. SHIELD was a tricky organization – they loved mutants when they thought mutants could be of some use or help to them. As for the rest, the organization seemed like it could care less what happened to them.

Fury answered the Professor's question truthfully. He said, "As you know, the recruitment pool has suffered greatly since the Game. As many as four thousand mutants died here. Not so many are left, and what is left is now up for grabs. If you people help us, we promise to be a bit more open when we find emergent mutants. We can share what's left, something mutually beneficial. As you know it's never been easy to get a census on you guys, we don't even know how many are out there, but from what we can tell there's been a drop off in new births. Outkasts may now be the largest organized group now, a sad thing since they only seem to be interested in making money."

The statement was accurate. The Outkasts had jumped out of the woodwork to help the X-men thrown down Jael's bid for power, but only after the X-men had taken the worst of the casualties. The Outkasts came in, finished the job, gloated a bit, and then vanished to who knows where, certain to pop back up again at the least opportune moment.

Logan snorted at Fury's ersatz sympathy with the plight of mutants. Fury wasn't offering the X-men anything new or substantial only perhaps that he would share with them the folks SHIELD couldn't use for themselves. The weak would have shelter and a home.Charles didn't respond to Logan's noise though he had certainly heard it. "What about Morlocks? Some have survived the massacre from years ago. We saw some of them just recently. Surely they might be acquiring these street kids for themselves to increase their numbers."

Fury shook his head. "Actually, our intelligence tells us the opposite. The Morlocks are disappearing faster than the topside kids as far as we can tell. We have no idea where they are all disappearing to. It doesn't look like the Honey is killing them, we haven't found enough bodies to justify all their disappearances."

"All right. Why you tellin' us?" Logan asked, wanting to get to the point.

"We thought you guys, being mutants, might be able to get the information using a lower profile."

"I thought you guys had all the technology you needed."

"Yes, but there's been a snag. We sent in several guys in posing as street kids and they were successfully kidnapped, but after that we lose contact with them. They are either being killed or taken somewhere our locators can't detect."

Logan arched an eyebrow. Those must have been brave lads to volunteer for something so risky. Of course SHIELD often recruited from the less savory, giving the option of jail or service, which really wasn't much of an option at all. "What? You didn't embed them with GPS or anything?"

"Actually we did. Either they detected it or they magically went somewhere the GPS couldn't find them."

"What makes you think we'd do any better?"

Fury grinned, seeing he had won the man over. "You guys are more talented, and sometimes technology isn't everything it's cut out to be."

"What are your goals exactly?" Charles wanted to know.

"For now, we just want to know where the Honey is coming from so we can shut it down. I believe if we can do that, we'll find these missing kids as well. I want to send in a small investigative force, one I that can come and go undetected. Recon only. We'll devise a full scale assault plan when we have more information. I don't want to go in there without knowing what we're up against."

"Where do we start?" Logan asked, pawing at the pictures the aide had spread out.

"Here," Fury answered, pointing to a map that had been included. "There's the warehouse there on Dockside. I don't want to set this guy off, I just need someone to go in and take a peek and tell me what they see."

"I'll assemble a team," Charles said to that.

"Thanks," Fury said, pleased. The aide began packing up the materials. This really hadn't taken all that long.

"I'll send word as soon as we learn something," Charles promised.

"I'll look forward to it."

Logan waited until Fury and his aide had left before turning to Charles, already starting to argue, "I'm going in alone."

"I didn't say the team would be a large one. At the very least you will need transport."

"Fallen's taken Henry to Atlanta to help with the whole Flush thing."

Fallen was the X-men's main go to girl for trips out like this. They had the Blackbirds of course, but Fallen's own ship was larger and by far more silent. She had built the craft she used herself, the Lucky Dragon, and had used it to take Henry out on trips like this to where he was needed most. Gideon's Flush was a new virus that had emerged recently and Henry had offered his help to the CDC to help them figure out where it was coming from. They would be gone for a few days.

"Have Remy fly you out," Charles suggested. Remy was Fallen's unofficial back up, but neither he nor his flight crew had ever flown out on official X-men business. Their craft, the Dragon 2 was as yet untried.

"Is he ready for a mission?" Logan questioned, uncertain. He didn't like flying with a newbie flight crew, even for a quick sneak and peek.

"He's to fly you out and nothing more," Charles asserted with authority. Remy had been bumped off the active duty roster because of an injury and everyone knew the thief was champing at the bit for a chance to come back on. He hadn't been cleared for that of course, so he would have to be handled delicately.

Logan crossed his arms, an ironic smile on his face. "He won't sit for that and you know it. He'll want to tag along and I'd rather go alone. "

"He will do as he is directed," the Professor insisted. "And I know I can count on you to make sure that he does."

"I'll give him a call and tell him to get the Dragon 2 ready."

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Kimble lay on a nice, thick blanket, warm and happy in the late evening sun. He and Aiden were topside, out on the tarmac and in the shade of the Dragon 2, catching some rays, both of them taking their final energy recharge for the day. They came up here often now that things had quieted in the world, to watch the sunset and smoke.

Like Simone, neither of the two men were organic, fleshly beings but that didn't make them any less alive. They were both Siskan Courtesans and proud of it, one of the few of their kind still left alive in the universe. They fed on energy and preferred to take it from the sun, especially since it allowed them the freedom of coming up here alone to watch the sun rise and fall as they did so.

Kimble was the most odd looking of the pair. He was the perfect image of a male Dognan pilot, a blending of both human and animal. His skin was a stark, bleached out white spread out over the upper body of a well worked human athlete. He was an inorganic being and no amount of sunbathing would ever give him a tan. Just like Simone, a large tattoo of a winged woman covered his entire chest, only his was Purple, announcing to all who would see that he was indeed a Rogue of the Game and a person of high value. That's where his humanity ended. His lower half had a pair of legs that were crooked like a cat, ending in pawed feet with two large toes each, a large silver claw wedged in between. A complimentary pair of leathery bat wings made sure he would never be confused with anything resembling a normal human. His hair was waist length and richly black, fanned out under him as he reclined, an eye-catching alabaster Adonis. He was dressed only in a pair of loose fitting black sweatpants, riding just low enough on his hips to show that from the waist down the bare skin blended into white fur, the softest fur anyone could run their hands through.

He was leaning back on the blanket and sprawled happily, his eyes a bit droopy from the round of play that he and Aiden had shared before coming up here. These two were more than simple friends, they were pair bonded and married, matching rings and everything.

Aiden was sitting beside him with his elbows resting on his bent knees, smoking a cigarette. He smoked the most of the pair by far, his non-organic body using the nicotine to keep himself calm and even. All the benefits without the risk of cancer. He, too, was shirtless at the moment, the sun gleaming off of his slightly browned and golden skin. He had once had the ability to see the future in his sleep and this had earned him the nickname The Dreamer. The nickname had stuck though he hadn't had a premonition since the Game had concluded here just a few short months ago.

Kimble's supine position on the blanket gave him a good view of his lover's back. Unlike Kimble, Aiden appeared as a normal human man, slight in stature but strong enough not to be trifled with. He too carried a big bright Mark on his chest, but his winged woman was a golden egg yolk yellow. It was striking, but he was no Rogue like Kimble was. He had begun as a simple Blue Receiver, but he had been chemically altered in the Game. Now no one was really sure what his true status was. Not that it mattered now that the Game was done.

Kimble of course cared about none of this, he was too busy admiring the way the sun was shining through Aiden's wispy blonde hair, like spun gold, loving every strand. He loved everything about the man, including the slow and easy movement of Aiden's elegant slim fingers as he smoked. It brought a smile to Kimble's face, the thought of what those highly skilled hands had done to him only a few minutes ago, before they had come up here.

Aiden sensed Kimble's loving, playful thoughts as a vibration he could feel. They were no ordinary Siskans, these. They were Lushna-esk and empathic. Now so fully bonded that worded communication was no longer necessary for them to express their deepest thoughts for one another. Kimble's warm, vaguely lustful vibration made Aiden smile and he glanced back at his lover with his pale green eyes, that grin all teasing now.

Aiden was about to say something but paused when his cell phone went off. Aiden wasn't fond of the device, but now that he was an actual member of the Dragon 2 flight crew, was forced to carry it. Kimble of course, did not possess one himself. He had never overcome his fierce aversion to phones -- he had once been horribly beaten for using one a long time ago -- and so all their calls came to Aiden whether it was for him or not.

" 'Allo?" Aiden answered a bit reluctantly, his eyes looking Kimble up and down. The pilot was spread out, just ripe for the taking, and Aiden was never one to turn down seconds if he could have them. This was an interruption he could have done without.

"Bonjour, Dreamer," Remy said breathlessly from the other end. He was obviously in the middle of something, walking quickly and moving fast. "Where you at?"

"Outszide, catching szome szun," Aiden replied, his voice thick with a heavy accent. Aiden was not a Rogue like his love-mate, his accent had come from not from coding, but from having been melted several times. It was a sign of damage. Not that he minded it all that much, it made him unique and his individuality was something Aiden had always enjoyed.

"Kim dere wit you?"

Aiden smiled. "But of coursze. 'E would be nowhere elsze."

"Bien. Start de Dragon up, we got a mission. A real one fo' once. 'Bout friggin' time. I'll be up dere in ten minutes."

"Aye, Captain," Aiden replied and hung up. He turned back to Kimble who looked entirely too comfortable. "Alasz, my love, we muszt go. We 'ave a mission."

Kimble just grunted without moving. He began to complain in his own slow drawl, a mark of his being a Rogue as real as his tattoo. "A real one? We ain't had nuthin' but short runs around the block. Fuckin' drills and drills and then more stupid drills. Why's we even botherin' nohow if they ain't never gonner ever use us fer real?"

"Ah, but my szweet, disz one isz real. Or szo Remy claimsz."

Kimble sat up at that. "Did he say where we wuz goin'?"

"Non, only zat 'e on 'isz way up. We are to sztart up ze Dragon."

"Well, then let's get to it," Kimble said, a huge grin on his face.

Truth be told Kimble loved to fly, drills or not. He was more than simply empathic, he had other gifts as well. He was telekinetic and could fly himself and this ship as well. The Dragon 2 was no ordinary ship -- Seth, Kimble's Siskan half brother, had designed it from Dognan schematics which meant it needed both a telekinetic and an energy producer to fly it. In Dognan society, pilots had both of these abilities. Kimble was a pilot in appearance only, his only talent was telekinesis, he couldn't power the ship. No, that job was reserved for one Remy Lebeau, former thief and now Captain of this tiny vessel.

A few minutes later that same thief eagerly climbed up the short ramp to the Dragon 2, his personal pride and joy. Seth had originally designed it and built it for the Professor, but then Charles had given it to Remy, a generous gift.

Remy smiled as he heard his two shipmates chattering away inside. After the events of the Game, their lives had all been drastically changed, the thief's perhaps most of all. Remy had suffered greatly in the Game itself and had since been bounced from the active duty roster. While it was disappointing and unfair at first, the hurt of it had been significantly appeased by where it had landed him – at the helm of this magnificent little craft.

Seth had built this Lear jet sized ship with the thief in mind. Remy's biologically produced energy was more than strong enough to power the tiny vessel. Combined with Kimble's own powerful telekinesis, the two of them could take this craft wherever they wished. While not as exciting as being on the ground team, the thrill of flight had blasted away any resentment the thief might have felt. Now he was going on clandestine excursions into territory he could never have gone on his own.

Kimble's companion and lovemate Aiden had been incorporated into the flight team, mostly since the two Siskans were inseparable. Aiden had only the weakest of telekinetic ability, certainly nothing that could help fly this thing, so Kimble had taught Aiden all the mechanics he would ever need to know. Aiden, like all Siskans, learned fast when properly motivated. Aiden wasn't without skills of his own - he was well trained in hand to hand combat and was sort of like their designated bouncer should the need ever arise. He was also Remy's personal sparring partner, helping to keep Remy in perfect shape for what they hoped was his eventual reinstatement to the full time duty roster. Now the three of them ran this vessel like three parts of one whole, a fluid team in every sense of the word.

The X-men had in their possession two ships like this. The first was the Lucky Dragon, built by Kimble's former Mistress Fallen, a true Dognan pilot. She was responsible for returning the X-men after they had been kidnapped by Dognan slavers all those years ago. Her Lucky Dragon was large, a true spaceship that could carry many passengers.

The Dragon 2 was much smaller than that and more like a shuttle craft to her large, heavy duty transport. The Main Room was one large space and comprised the bulk of the ship. The front of the room was dominated by a large viewing screen that acted as a window, showing what was going on outside the craft as they flew. In the middle were two pilot sticks, one each for Remy and Kimble. At the rear of the room was a short row of seats, enough for six passengers. A small bathroom and some storage lockers completed the whole of the ship.

"Ready, boys?" Remy chirped merrily, coming into the main room. His manner of dress proved he was no liar when he had said this was a real mission – he was decked out in the full black uniform of the X-men. This was no mere grocery run.

"Aye," Kimble replied, already seated on his pilot stick. Though the pilot sticks were called sticks, they more closely resembled large chairs that were ridden, not unlike being on a large cruising motorcycle. They were easy on the body, able to be adjusted into many positions and designed for comfort on a long trip. They could even be slept in if necessary.

Remy eased onto his pilot stick, placing his hands on two bars out front, and gave them a good charge of telekinetic energy. He smiled with satisfaction as he heard the engines come to life below him, raising a pleasant low vibration in the seat. That sound would always send a real thrill right through him, like an affirmation that he was in control of some large powerful beast. It was better than any motorcycle could ever be. He loved to fly, a change in lifestyle he never could have imagined.


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: Thanks to all of you who reviewed -- even you, tiredofkimble!, lol -- it's always nice to hear from you. :)

I am going to apologize now for any weirdness that may follow as this story progresses. The truth is, I was reading that latest release from JRR Tolkien -- The Children of Hu'rin -- when the basic idea for Twilight just popped into my head. (An odd thing when you consider his tale didn't involve dimension hopping, magic doors, yum-yum flowers, or even fauns, lol). It is strange, those things that inspire us – boredom and a Dean Koontz book about a guy with a split personality inspired my Kimble series; 911 inspired The Game series; Cujo, of all things, inspired My Dark Angel. (Cujo thought to himself in capital words – BAD DOG, GOOD DOG, much like I had Simone do in the beginning). I hope you guys like what follows, let me know if you don't, lol. :) – SQ

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(Two)

Moments later, their single passenger, Logan, came up the ramp. He was in uniform as Remy was and carrying a backpack. This was the first time he had been flown by Remy's craft and wasn't quite sure what to expect. He had been on the Lucky Dragon of course, but never on her much smaller sister craft. He could see it was well made and comfortable. The passenger seats were roomy and plushy, inviting.

And currently occupied.

Wolverine noticed Aiden sprawled out comfortably across a couple of the passenger seats, one foot up on the cushions, lounging as if they were departing on a pleasure cruise and not an actual mission. Logan looked at him more carefully and then scowled. Aiden had changed his clothes for the flight and was now dressed in black cargo shorts and a black, short sleeved silk shirt he hadn't bothered to button. It wasn't the slovenly dress that had annoyed the feral man, it was the fact that the black shirt had a golden X in a circle sewn on the sleeve, Xavier's emblem. It wasn't an actual X-men uniform, but pretty darn close. Too close.

"Nice shirt," Logan growled with disapproval as he dumped his pack to the floor and shoved it under his seat with his foot.

Aiden grinned just slightly, not the least bit intimidated. "Molly make for me."

Logan just grunted at that and sat in his seat. Molly was Remy's wife and Logan's niece, the daughter of his half brother, Sabretooth. She wasn't an official X-man but that didn't mean her presence wasn't felt. She was often subtle like this, sneaking imitation emblems on shirts where they did not belong. She was a strong supporter of the Siskans in Remy's life and wasn't shy about showing it.

One glance at Kimble revealed the pilot had had the foresight to change his own clothes as well. The black sweats were gone and replaced with black jeans, the closest Kimble could get to matching Remy's uniform. Logan couldn't see it, but Kimble's belt buckle had the Xavier X on it, one of Remy's old ones that he no longer used. While Kimble and Aiden were members of the Dragon 2's flight crew, they were not inducted into the X-men proper. Neither possessed a real uniform. It rankled a bit and Logan growled softly in irritation.

Logan had always held these Siskans at arm's length. They unsettled artificial personalities were just too real to life and too skewed for his tastes. They were childish and impulsive enough that he could never fully trust them. The childish personalities had been deliberate – Siskans were intended for slave labor, of that there was little dispute. Their innocence and eager compliance in most things made them more dependent upon their Masters and more accepting of their fate and lot in life. Unfortunately, these Lushna-esk, the ones who were more self aware, took that to the next level and were always underfoot and getting into some kind of trouble. It was like being surrounded by a gaggle of unruly teenagers trapped in an endless puberty. Logan couldn't help but wonder what Quishnalay, the Siskan Maker, had been thinking when he had deliberately brought these creatures out into the world.

Logan wasn't against the existence of these Siskans, that hadn't been their choice, but he was uncomfortable with how integrated into the X-men's infrastructure they were becoming. They were in the Labs, they were building things, they had Charles' ear. Now, they were going out on missions. That wasn't going to end well, not in the long run.

"You boys ready to go or we just goan' chat all night?" Remy asked, looking behind him with a mischievous smile. It didn't matter that his sole job was to ferry a passenger across the country, it was a mission for real just the same and he was eager to begin.

Logan decided to let the dress code violations pass, at least for now, but he would be sure to bring it up to Charles later. At the moment, there was work to be done. "Ready when you are, Cajun."

"Den mebbe you bes' be tellin' us where you wanna go. 'Less you want to take de scenic route."

"New York City."

"New York it is. Kimble?"

"Aye, Captain," Kimble answered, his eyes closing as he communicated telepathically with the small craft, loading the coordinate codes for their destination. Kimble wasn't telepathic with people, but he did have a sort of internal modem that allowed him to converse with the ship's systems within a short range. It was a leftover from when he used to help Fallen run the Lucky Dragon and Seth had made sure to incorporate that ability here as well.

The craft idled for just a moment and then Remy and Kimble set off, working together like a well oiled machine, co-ordinating power and movement to launch the tiny craft from the tarmac just as smooth as pie. Remy's kinetic energy powered the engines, but it was Kimble who guided the craft, using it as an extension of his own body when he flew. Logan couldn't help but be impressed. He'd had jerkier takeoffs when Cyclops flew the Blackbird. Not only was the Dragon 2 smooth, it was nearly silent as well, something he could appreciate on a trip like this.

The Dragon 2 was small and speedy. It crossed the long distance from Arizona to New York City in just under an hour. The craft was cloaked and not seen by human eyes, flying just low enough not to tangle with any commercial aircraft.

Despite his first reservations, Logan liked what he saw in this flight crew. They had obviously practiced a lot. Remy was relaxed and leaning easy on his stick, one handed and casual just like he always had when he was driving his Jeep. It spoke of an easy familiarity and confidence in what he was doing.

Once over the city, Logan gave more detailed directions to Dockside until they were hovering just over the warehouse. Remy had been in the City long enough to be somewhat familiar with the area, something that made this all the easier.

"Where you want us, patron?" Remy asked. The viewing screen in front showed many outside views around the ship, making it clear that parking might be an issue. He didn't want to land anywhere that someone might walk or drive into the cloaked ship by accident.

"Set us down on the roof. Kimble can fly me down to the street after we land."

Remy nodded at Kimble, prompting the reply, "Aye, Captain," from the pilot. Kimble skillfully steered the small craft onto the roof of the warehouse, making no sound at all as they set down. Again, Logan was impressed by the smooth handling the pair piloting the craft gave to the landing. All those drills had paid off, no one would know they were there.

The moment they settled down, Logan grabbed his gear and got ready. As he made for the door, Logan saw the thief was right behind him like an eager little brother. "Where do ya think yer goin'?"

" 'M goin' wit'," Remy answered as if was perfectly obvious he'd been invited.

Logan had anticipated this already and wasn't the least bit surprised. "I don't think so, bub. Yer stayin' right here."

Remy gave him his most charming smile. The thief was good at this, getting folks to bend to his will. He used a touch of empathy as well, trying to ease the idea into Logan's mind. "Chuck wouldn't 'ave sent me if 'e didn't want me to tag along."

Wolverine wasn't falling for it, not one bit. "He sent ya 'cause Fallen's out with Lucky. You were on hand."

"Nice try, Wolvie," Remy countered. "Lucky too big for 'ere."

The answer wasn't entirely incorrect -- now that they were here, it was clear the Lucky Dragon would have been much too large to park as sweetly as this smaller craft had. But Logan's grin was not friendly just the same as he countered, "Right. And what about the Dragon 2? Somebody's got to keep watch."

"Aiden and Kim can 'andle it."

Logan just shook his head, not happy with Remy's excuse. The fact was he had planned on going at this alone and he would move faster without the added burden of a stowaway. "Maybe so, but funny thing. I don't seem ta recall seein' yer name back on the active duty roster."

Remy's face darkened with barely concealed anger. "We bot' know I'm good enough to go out dat door."

"Do we?" Logan challenged, giving him a sniff. "I'm just goin' in for a look-see, eh? But there's no tellin' what's gonna go down. Might get bloody. Might get nasty. You think you can handle seein' me rip one of Frost's guys apart if it comes to that?"

Remy shivered, he couldn't help it. He hadn't been injured during the Game in the conventional sense. He hadn't been shot or stabbed or had any broken bones. Instead he had gone down from a severe empathic overload from all the wounded and the dying people that had gone down that day and suffered a severe mental breakdown. It had been harder on him than any bodily injury could ever have been.

Remy hadn't been born a full blown empath. No, Kimble had made him that way. Kimble and Remy shared a unique bond – Kimble had been injured once many years ago and Remy had selflessly used his kinetic energy to repair him without thinking. It had an interesting side effect no one could have ever anticipated. As they had shared that same energy, Kimble's memories were also shared and were partially imbedded into Remy's own mind, bonding them closer than brothers. Remy now spoke fluent Siskan and shared Kimble's powerful empathy. The empathy had been hard for Gambit to deal with at first, but he eventually gained control of it.

Every empath handles the gift in their own way. Remy's spoke to him with its own voice, that of a silky sultry female. He had named her, that voice, calling her Shi'ow-ri, the Whisperer in Siskan. She was speaking to him now, telling him Logan's secrets as they stared each other down. **_/ Don't believe what he says,_ **she whispered. **_/ He just doesn't want you to go. It isn't that he doesn't believe in you._ / **

_Non, it more dan dat_, he answered her. _Dere's sumptin' more 'e ain't sayin'._

"I can 'andle it," he said out loud to Logan, not backing down, not just yet.

"No," Logan insisted with authority. "You can't."

Wolverine's lips were moving, but Remy was correct that Logan's body was saying so much more. **_/ The way you looked out there in Game? I don't ever wanna see you look that way ever again, boy. It nearly broke my heart to see it. It ain't gonna happen again, not on my watch. /_**

"Dat's cold," Remy replied, his normal easy going facade cracking just a bit. He was furious at being left behind.

Logan could see it, the thief's face was fighting a rising blush. "That's life, kid. When Henry clears you, then you can come. For now, this is my show, my job, and I'm going alone. If I don't come back in a couple of hours, then you can come lookin' in on me, but do it sneaky like. No one's supposed to know we're here."

The thief did not reply but his jaw was working.

"If this is going to be a problem I can just have Fallen fly me out next time," Wolverine tossed out, just to put the thief back into his proper place. Charles was right to have confidence that Logan would control this situation. Wolverine was always all business out on the road and this would be no exception.

Remy had seen this before so it came as no real surprise. It just stung since this was the first time it had been directed at him. "Dat won't be necessary, patron," he replied icily, backing away and retaking his seat on his pilot stick.

Logan didn't miss the badly concealed sulky pout on Remy's face, but he did ignore it. He gestured to Kimble and the Siskan followed meekly behind. Kimble glanced back at Remy as he passed, his eyes expressive, painfully aware of Remy's wrath and humiliation. The thief was a senior X-man, fully trained and in good physical health. It was killing him to be left behind and Kimble knew it. Unable to change the situation, Kimble simply followed Logan outside.

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Once outside the craft, Wolverine went right to work. There had been a light rain and everything was damp, kept that way by a low lying fog that had settled in off the water, almost perfect weather conditions for this sort of work. He moved silently across the rooftop and took off his backpack. He rooted around inside and took out several small miniature cameras, tossing a couple to Kimble who had followed right behind, awaiting orders.

_**Plant these, one to a corner, facing the ground, **_Logan signed quickly with his hands, knowing that Kimble would be able to understand.

The sign language was a gift from Molly, Remy's wife. A childhood injury had left her unable to vocalize proper words and so she had been taught to sign. Once she had come to live amongst them, most of the X-men who spent any great length of time with her had been taught to read her signs. Now that it was in frequent use, it had become just one more tool in the X-men's bag of tricks to use when out on missions like this. They could communicate quickly without being overheard.

Kimble nodded and planted his cameras as he had been instructed. Living with an ex-thief meant Remy had taught him how to use and plant these sort of devices and more. He didn't need to be told how to do this. These cameras would give Remy in the Dragon 2 additional views of the warehouse below and all of its exits. Once the cameras were in place it was time for the pair to move to the ground.

Kimble flew Logan to the pavement below, but not directly down. Logan had instructed him to fly a short distance away so Logan could scout the outside region first before going into the warehouse itself. Sometimes the outside of a building could yield as many clues as the inside.

Kimble did as he was told, landing where Logan had directed. He released the man and stepped away, but kept his eyes down, saying nothing. Still, Logan could tell the guy was upset -- Kimble's shoulders were high and tight and he held one hand fisted at his side. To some it might look intimidating, Kimble was dressed in the skin of a full grown male with the heavier shoulders and upper arm mass to prove it. Logan knew better. Kimble was little more than a twelve year boy masquerading as a man. While he might have the sexual skill of that grown man, he did not possess the emotional control of an adult to go with it. This was Kimble's way of quietly pouting without actually saying a word.

Logan already knew what the deal was -- Kimble regarded Remy as his brother if not still his Master, and would always come to his defense. Trouble was, Kimble was also a submissive, even more so since the Game. He wouldn't outright declare his feelings unless prompted.

"What," Logan barked a bit gruffly, still keeping his voice down though they were a safe distance away from the target now.

Kimble's pale blue yes met his own sharply. Most of the time Kimble was passive and quiet but every once in a while there were moments like these when his truer, stronger self would surface. Kimble was like most Siskans – complex. He suffered from a shattered personality with three separate selves. A partial reintegration hadn't gone well and Kimble had been limping along ever since, always doing his best to remain in control. Kimble, the Lover, was the most dominant personality and yet the most submissive to other people. But then there were times like this when his more aggressive personality, Zander, also known as the Punisher, would show himself, in spirit if not in voice.

Kimble spoke, his voice deepening just slightly as he answered with Zander's more authoritative tone. "If anaone wuz to asks me, I'd tells them Remy wuz okay. He's the best he's been a long while. Has been evra since them twins wuz born."

Remy had had a tough year, but the upside had been the birth of his twins. It had been no secret that Remy had always wanted kids and there was a lot to be said for the ego boost of being a new father, especially when one of those twins just happened to be a boy. Still, it wasn't enough to change Logan's mind.

"You'd say anything to put him back on that roster just to make him happy," Logan countered condescendingly. "We both know that."

Everyone had thought that actually, it was precisely why Kimble's opinion on the matter of Remy's current mental state had never been sought. Henry had been placed in charge of deciding when Remy would be reinstated on the full time roster – if ever – and he had been quick to ask everyone else their views on Remy's mental state besides the pilot, including Aiden. Kimble had been left out on purpose, Henry figuring that Kimble was just too close to the thief to be unbiased. If Kimble had been aware his opinion had been deliberately snubbed, he hadn't complained about it until now. It had hurt.

There was just one thing no one had considered and Kimble made Logan feel a bit stupid as he replied, "I'd never puts him in harms way. Not deliberate. Not if I knew there wuz sumpthin' really wrong with him. I won't lose him over nuthin' dumb like his bruised ego on account of him bein' left behind. I kin takes his anger and his hurt feelin's just cuz ya haves ta be alives to have's em, understand? I loves him too much just ta says what he wants to hear when it ain't hardly true."

Logan didn't reply immediately though Kimble's words had made perfect sense. The pair were almost inseparable, had been almost from the day they had shared Kimble's memories. Though Kimble was married now, it was no great secret that Kimble was still deeply in love with Remy and always would be. Kimble would try to keep the man close, not put him at risk no matter what Remy's heart wanted. They should have understood that. Logan didn't apologize, but he did say, "I'll pass that along to Henry when I see him."

Kimble nodded and turned away, jumping up into the blackened sky without saying another word.

Done with drama, Wolverine turned right to the task at hand. He snuck off, hugging the walls of the nearest buildings and staying way from the streetlights. He had more than cameras in his bag of tricks and employed another one now – a bracelet cloaking device. Fallen had brought more than just her large ship when she joined the X-men, she had been generous with the other Dognan technologies she had on hand - water filtration devices, new energy supplies and batteries -- but none had been more valuable than these bracelet cloaking devices she had made for them.

Logan was sneaky and well trained all on his own – he had made good use of the Danger Room for more than just learning how to fight well. He could infiltrate and recon with the best of Fury's black ops troops, but he was never one to turn down any sort of helping hand like this. This device would allow him to get closer than he could have just on his own skills alone.

Logan neared the warehouse, moving in a steady circle around the building. He was making mental notes of all the various vehicles parked nearby, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He didn't see anything suspicious and so moved closer to his target, taking his time, nice and easy like.

As he neared the warehouse, Logan watched as a newspaper blew by his feet and then stuck to the wet pavement next to him. The top page carried a headline about the Gideon's Flush, the same virus Henry had gone to Atlanta to help out with. Logan didn't know that much about the disease, but he had overheard that some doctor named Gideon had been the first one to diagnose the disease. Unfortunately it also killed him. It was named after him and called the Flush because while it first presented as a normal flu, it also came with a terrible and painful red rash that covered the skin. Details were sketchy, but initial reports were saying that it made mutants sick for a day or so, but the normal humans all died, suggesting it was somehow man made and deliberately placed. If it had been, so far no one had yet come forward to claim responsibility. At the moment it was worse on the East coast but it was spreading fast. The paper's headline was alerting people that for the first time quarantine areas were being set up in those areas that had been affected the worst, something that made Logan shudder. It was too much like concentration camps for his taste though he could see the wisdom of containment.

Logan had no time to be thinking about things that did not concern him directly. He moved on and made his way to the warehouse proper, testing the windows until he found one that was broken enough for him to open. He raised it and soundlessly slipped inside. He was well practiced at this, honing his skills in stealth just as carefully as he had his ability to fight. There was so much more to his job than being a simple brawler though folks often forgot that. Like everything else he did, he made sure he was the best he could be at it at all times.

The moment his feet landed, he had to suppress a strong reflex to vomit. This warehouse had once been used as a fish packing plant and still reeked of old, dead fish. That strong odor was now playing havoc with his hyper acute animal sense of smell. He swallowed hard and got a hold of himself, moving deeper inside.

While the outside of the building had nothing to say, the inside was something quite different. There was a light coming from the back and he headed towards it. As he made his way, he passed several large shipment containers, all with scents very much out of place here. One container smelled of gun oil while another of fresh produce, still another of medical supplies. What was going on here?

Logan stopped at the edge of the last container, careful not to step into the light. While it was true that his cloak would keep him from being easily seen, there was more than one way to be detected. He could still be caught on infrared heat sensors and even picked up if these guys had a telepath amongst them.

Not that that was much of a concern, these guys were busy whoever they were. The light was centered over a large canvas covered, open backed military transport truck. Six or seven men were onloading boxes into the truck, supplies from the shipping containers. Just outside of the truck on the floor, sat a small circle of hostages. They looked to be young teens all of them, their hands tied with wire ties pulled painfully tight. Some were obvious mutants, a couple had off color skin and one poor girl was sprouting a lovely set of horns from her forehead. They looked to be betas only, merely cosmetic deformities. Anything stronger and they could have tried fighting back. As it was, they were being guarded by two men with machine guns, two guys who looked like nothing would thrill them more than to blow the whole group of them away.

Wolverine had to do his best not to charge right in and take these guys out. It was his long time military training that held him in good stead. Yes, it was unfortunate that these kids were trapped like this, but he needed to know where they were being taken. It was clear by the way the truck was being prepped that they were off to somewhere else, the supplies told him that. He would have to be patient and hope he might get a chance to find out just what that destination was.

He wasn't the least bit surprised to see Jason Frost, the man in charge himself, come from a back room and walk into the light. He was an older fellow, in his late fifties, but in very good shape for a man his age. He obviously worked out frequently. He kept his salt and pepper hair cropped very close, military style. He was also dressed in military clothing.

W_hat a poser_, Logan couldn't help but think. The man hadn't seen one day of service and hadn't earned the clothes he was wearing.

Frost watched with detached impatience as the loading of supplies was completed. The truck was quite full now that it was loaded. When it came time to load the kids, only half of them were placed on the truck and none too gently.

Logan expected Frost to board the truck and drive off, but instead the man did a most peculiar thing. He took out what looked like an ordinary pocket watch and checked the time. He rearranged the hands manually as if the time was somehow off. There was a strange flickering in the overhead lights and then Frost stepped up onto the truck, holding himself on the outside of the driver's side door of the truck by the mirror. The truck moved forward only a few feet and then it simply vanished right before Logan's eyes, passing through an opening no one could see.

Logan silently gasped, he hadn't been expecting that at all. On the other hand, it left the remaining hostages only partially protected. The same two guys were there with their guns, but that was all. Neither of them seemed particularly fazed by what just happened, apparently they had seen the truck disappear like that before and were expecting it. It startled the kids some and they panicked a bit. One tried to flee but was knocked back to the ground and shoved back with the others.

Logan had to suppress a growl at the mistreatment. He could take these guys, they were easy pickings for an X-man of Logan's caliber. Logan had already made up his mind before he knew it and took one step forward when all of sudden that truck came right on back, rolling back into visibility from just a few feet from where it had left.

_Okay, now that's fucked up, _Logan thought, backing right back up into the shadow he had just left. _What the hell...?_

Any thought that this was a different truck was quickly dispelled when he saw Frost and the same guys come out. The truck was now empty, all of its previous cargo had been offloaded in a matter of a minute or so, something impossible. They were taking some cardboard boxes off now, but these were different ones, much smaller than the previous ones had been and giving off the muted sounds of clinking glass. There was a funny smell from the boxes too, something sickly sweet.

_Honey. It has to be, _Logan was thinking, his mind trying to process all this information so quickly. He had to move fast, as he was working all of this out, the truck was being reloaded with the last of the supplies and the remaining hostages. It was do something now or forget it.

Frost once more grabbed hold of the driver's side door and Logan reacted, leaping out from the shadows and grabbing hold of the back of the truck. With the cloak he wasn't seen, though he thought he saw one of the kids quickly glance his way, the young girl with the horns. Just in case, he held a finger to his lips, asking for silence. She nodded just barely at him, confirming his guess, and then they were off.

The truck rolled forward and then vanished once more, taking its cargo and one stowaway to who knew where.

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After dropping Logan off, Kimble flew back up to the rooftop to where the Dragon 2 was parked. The cloak was working well, if he hadn't known the craft was there, he would have walked right into it. He held a hand up, found the ramp to the door and then walked right back in.

Remy was still sitting slumped in his pilot stick seat, a frown teasing the corners of his mouth. Aiden was behind him on the passenger seats, his head down. He was vibrating well wishes Remy's way but the thief was too pissed off for them to be doing any good.

Kimble sighed inwardly, disliking tense situations like this. Fortunately he knew how to handle this one. He went to his own stick and punched a button, starting a timer so they would know when two hours had passed. They wouldn't go after Logan before then.

"Let's play some cards," he suggested next, opening a floor panel and taking out a handy pack. "It'll helps the time pass."

Remy smiled at that, he couldn't help it. He could never resist a game and was inwardly pleased at Kimble's thoughtfulness. He rose from his seat, Aiden following behind him, and the three of them sat in a small circle on the floor. Not to be outdone, he opened another floor panel and took out a small cooler – Molly had packed them some snacks. It wasn't much, just some sandwiches, some small bags of chips, fruit and some sodas. No beer, she wouldn't risk it, but no one was complaining.

Molly was always thoughtful like this. She couldn't come along on missions, but she still found ways for her influence to be felt, even beyond ersatz uniforms. It was her subtle way of saying thanks, really. When they were not out working, Kimble and Aiden were still around, helping out with the twins. Kimble was quite domestic, he was more than happy to help out with the laundry and the cleaning, and could be counted on to bring over a covered dish or two of food at least twice a week so Molly could have a break and not have to cook.

Aiden didn't do much as far as chores went, but he was quite smitten with the twins and loved to play games with them and sing to them. He told them stories, not caring in the least that they were far too young to understand them. He was quite happy to babysit them with Kimble so Remy and his wife could have a night out.

This was kept unadvertised of course, technically Kimble was still on the Complex's sex offender list and not supposed to be alone with any children. It had come about from a typical human/Siskan cultural misunderstanding – Kimble once had custody of a small a child, his dear Mistress Angel, and he had left a note to himself never to give in to the temptation of having relations with her. Of course, Kimble had meant it as a warning for the future, he would never consider touching a child in such a manner, but it had been found out and the paranoid humans around him freaked out. Remy was mortified. He understood Kimble's intention – this immortal Siskan would remain unchanged as the years passed while his adopted daughter would someday become a woman – but the thief had never been able to convince the others what Kimble had meant. Angel had sadly perished in the Game, a loss Kimble had never fully recovered from. Just the same, poor Kimble had been doomed to be dumped on a list with perverts and deviants, something had wounded him inside forever.

Remy, ever forgiving, had no qualms whatsoever about leaving his own kids in Kimble's care and often did so without looking back once. He knew Kimble better than anyone, the Siskan would gladly die to protect the twins and Aiden would as well. They couldn't be in safer hands and Remy was more than grateful to have them around, helping out. Raising twins could be a nightmare but the ever helpful Siskans were making it more than manageable.

Remy skillfully shuffled the cards and dealt them each a hand. Kimble sent a gentle vibration of loving concern his way and Remy smiled at it, already feeling better. It didn't take the sting out of being left behind, but he was comforted that he and Aiden cared.

They played cards for a few minutes, chatting about nothing in particular, munching on snacks. The Siskans ran on stored energy reserves but they could also eat small quantities of food and enjoy drinks. Kimble for one was quite fond of Dr. Pepper. It had replaced his previous favorite – Coke – and now it was all he would drink as far as soda went. Molly had made sure to include a couple in the cooler for him.

They played a couple rounds of poker, Remy winning both hands though it had been close. Kimble wasn't especially good at the game, but Aiden was and made the thief work hard for his wins. They were about to start a third round when Remy's phone went off.

"Dat was fast, " Remy commented, fully expecting it be Logan ready for pick up. He was startled when it turned out to be someone entirely different.

"Bonjour," Remy greeted cautiously. He had seen the caller ID and was a bit surprised to see who it was.

"Remy, Ah need your help," came from the other end. It was Rogue, his former girlfriend, calling from back at the Complex. There was no real reason for her to be calling him, they no longer worked much together though they had remained friendly. Her voice was strained with worry, barely hidden under her deep Mississippi accent.

"We out on a call, chere," he replied with some trepidation. This had to be bad news and he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know.

"Ah know but it's an emergency. Ah need you to come to the infirmary when you get back. It's Simone, something happened to him."

Remy straightened a bit at that. He was no longer with Rogue but he did have a vested interest in her Siskan partner. Through time and fate all the Siskans were Remy's whether they wanted it or not. Kimble's bonding with him had made Gambit the top authority on everything to do with them and he was the first one that was sought for advice. Unfortunately Simone had never really warmed up to the thief, he was much too jealous of Rogue's former lover to ever let him close.

"You know he don' respond too well to me, ma chere."

"Please?"

"D'accorde. Tell me what happened."

"Ah don't really know. Ah left him to go to work and Ash came and checked on him. When he got to my apartment he said Simone was all shot up."

"Shot?" Remy questioned, quite startled. Guns were outlawed in the Complex and the penalties for violating that rule were quite steep. "Like wit' real bullets?"

"Yes. Neal came along and gave him some plasma. He's fixed up but he's in a real bad state. Ah don't know what to do. He won't say what happened, he just cries an' cries..."

"Easy, easy, chere. No worries. I'll stop by when we get back but it's gonna be at least a coupla hours."

"Okay, thanks. He's stable for now, we just need to find out what happened is all. Just... just hurry if you can, okay?"

"Bien sur, chere, I'll be dere," he promised, it was impossible for him not to respond to the worry in her voice. It showed just how much she loved Simone and it pleased him.

Remy hung up and returned to the game, but his mind was racing. Bullets? A gun in the Complex? Why would anyone want to shoot Simone? He was kept so isolated that most folks there didn't even know he existed.

"Szumptin' isz wrong, yesz?" Aiden asked softly.

"Oui, but it's nuthin' fo you to worry about," Remy answered, brushing him off a bit. Simone wasn't only shy with him, he hadn't gotten chummy with any of his other clutch mates either.

Or so Remy had thought. He was a bit surprised when Aiden next said, "Szimone a bit shy, but 'e ain't szo bad."

Remy's eyes met his, squinted. "You talk to 'im, fils?"

"Yesz." In typical Aiden fashion, the Siskan did not elaborate. He waited instead for Remy to ask.

"When was dat?" Remy questioned with no small amount of annoyance. He had no patience for Aiden's games.

"In ze park. Szimone often go zere wit Ashair. Szometimes 'e szpeak wit' me."

Remy knew this already, at least the part about Asher helping Simone. Asher was Siskan also and his primary function was to make sure all the others were in good working mental order. He was their personal shrink, but he also had the ability to help them chemically if they got out of hand. Asher had been helping shy little Simone ease his way into human society, the poor guy had been in isolation for so long he had developed few social skills.

Remy of course had no idea Aiden had been tagging along. He couldn't help but glance at Kimble's shine, looking for jealousy. So far Kimble was quiet, he was keeping his eyes on his cards, letting them talk. If this had been a secret, Kimble would have reacted. Remy's eyes came back to Aiden's as he questioned, "And?"

"He haf' much love for 'isz Missztressz. Perhapsz too much."

Remy sat back, going right into father-mode. "Look, I know you mean well – or at least I 'ope you do – but you bes' be stayin' out of dat mess. Last time you boys come between a Siskan and 'is Mistress, t'ings didn't work out so well for you."

Kimble didn't let that one slide -- he flinched noticeably where he sat, his shine flickering a little bit, but he said nothing. His eyes stayed down, his shoulders slumping just a little, taking the blame. On Aiden's advice, Kimble had once come to Seth's aid when Seth had had a crisis and it had blown up in his face. Seth belonged to Fallen and she should have been consulted. It had happened a while back and things were okay now, but it had been handled so badly, so badly. It was part of the reason why Kimble was so shy with people now, he was so afraid of making yet another blunder like that again. It kept the pilot withdrawn and now he buried most of his feelings where they couldn't be seen, as if as long as he didn't respond to something, he couldn't be seen or it hadn't been said. It made Remy sad to see it, but it was too late, the damage had already been done.

Kimble's private emotional woundings alone should have been enough to keep these two from ever coming between a Siskan and his Mistress ever again, but here was Aiden, poking into Simone's business where he didn't belong. Gambit wasn't about to let it go undiscussed. If Kimble wasn't talking, he would get it from Aiden.

"What you talkin' about wit Simone anyhow?"

Aiden tossed his head, his shoulders getting tight as he replied defensively, "Zere isz much 'e need to know about our world... an' ze humansz in it."

Remy wasn't the least bit happy to hear that, he was very much aware of Aiden's own personal prejudices. Aiden didn't speak much, but when he did he could be very direct and even cruel. He was honest in ways most humans weren't. He had been mistreated in the past by his former masters, enough that he had his own little ugly word for those unlike himself, those of the flesh – **Chuckfet**. He used that word like "nigger" or "faggot". Remy didn't like it, not one bit, but Aiden was Aiden, stubborn and unmovable at times. Remy challenged him, "Like what, fils? An' you bes' be choosin' yo' words real careful."

Aiden didn't back down, he answered simply, "Only zat dey don' t'ink like usz moszt timesz. Zey do not alwaysz undersztand. I did tell Szimone zat of all of zem, you are to be truszted moszt."

Remy squinted again at that, not sure if Aiden was just ass kissing now in apology for seeing Simone when he really shouldn't be. One quick look at his shine told Remy he was not. It was a compliment, an unexpected but pleasant one.

The Dreamer didn't pause, he went on to say, "Aiden knowsz zat you are troubled zat ze Szimone doesz not accept you. But 'e 'asz to know 'oo 'e can truszt, and 'oo 'e cannot. I t'ought perhapsz it might mean more coming from me."

"Merci. Did it?"

"I t'ink mebbe szo, yesz."

Remy wasn't so sure. Last he checked Simone was still uncomfortable with him. But then he had been giving Simone a lot of space lately.

Gambit had been uneasy with Simone's relationship with his former girlfriend, Remy knew Rogue could be hard to handle at times. So far things seemed to be working out okay – Rogue had returned to her more normal self, spunky and full of fire. She no longer brooded or carried that shimmer of sadness in her shine that her many years of solitude and loneliness had given her. Simone was faring even better. When he had first come to the Complex, he had been a snarling ball of feral rage and had to be locked up. Rogue had gone a long way to drawing him out. He was now calm and out in the world, sheltered under her care.

Remy had watched the pair closely, looking for breakage. If Simone fell apart, he and Asher would be the first ones called upon to repair the damage, just as Rogue had called on him just now. So far he had been given nothing to alarm him, and he had backed off a bit. Now he was right back on the case – why was Simone being shot at? Did it have anything to do with Rogue, his Mistress? He would be sure to find out and take care of it.


	3. Chapter 3

(Three)

It became apparent to Logan really early after he jumped on that truck that he was no longer in Kansas, folks. The truck hadn't vanished, it had simply been transported to somewhere else and where that somewhere else was wasn't even close to home. The first thing he noticed that was different was the smell. Logan had traveled the world in his various missions, there were few places he hadn't been to. Still, no matter where on Earth he had gone, he always knew he was home. It might sound odd, but Earth had its own sort of smell, one that gave him comfort. This was altogether different. It smelled like nowhere else he had ever been.

The air here was sweet, heavy with a fragrance that was entirely new and wonderful. At first he thought maybe it was from some kind of large flower blossoms – orchids or some such -- but then it just seemed too sweet, more like honey or heavy fruit drenched in a cool refreshing rain. It was also quiet here, rural, there were no city sounds or even the distant overhead whine of faraway planes.

One quick glance around showed him that an odd smell was only where the strangeness began. The truck hadn't actually rolled far, it went only just a few feet before it stopped again. It hadn't had much choice, they had simply run out of land. The warehouse was gone and they were now on a small sandy island, barren of all trees and only just big enough for the truck and a small patch of road. There was a strange shimmering doorway behind the truck that was now closing, a portal of some kind that they had just passed through.

It was dark here, gloomy, like the sun was just on its way down on a rainy day. He looked up and all he saw was an endless expanse of grey sky, thin clouds were blocking the sun and moon, if there even were any. Hard to tell, with the cold dead grey like that, but he didn't see any glowing circles either, hiding up there. It was impossible to determine what time of day it was, something that disrupted the feral man's strong sense of grounding. He felt like he was just winging this... which of course he was.

_What the hell is this friggin' place...? _Logan thought as he dropped off the back of the truck. It was a good thing he was cloaked, there was no cover here for him here -- there were no trees, no plants at all, certainly nothing that could explain the strange smell that permeated this place.

Wolverine stepped back as the men hopped off the truck and began to unload it. If they found this place odd they had long gotten over it. They were all business now and got right to work. Logan was hard pressed to stay out of the way of them as they worked, there simply wasn't much real estate here. At first he couldn't fathom where these guys were planning to go with all this stuff, but when he walked around to the other side of the truck he saw a dock there and a large wooden barge.

A look across the water revealed the real destination of all this cargo – a much larger, wooded island lay in the distance, perhaps half a mile away. That didn't mean the isolation had ended -- that island, while substantially larger, was alone. Nothing but water lay as far as Logan could see in any other direction.

The kids were shuffled to the waiting barge. Their hands had been freed now, but not from generosity – each kid was given a box from the truck to carry, all the faster to load the barge.

_All this and a free work out too_, Logan grumbled to himself. _Bastards!_

That wasn't all he was unhappy about. It was clear that if he wanted to keep following these guys he had no choice but to swim for it or be towed by the barge if he could pull it off without being noticed. If he'd known he was going to get wet, he would have dressed differently. At least his backpack was waterproof, his supplies and equipment would survive the wet even if he didn't.

Wolverine didn't waste any more time on internal complaints, he headed for the water, still trying to figure out how he was going to do this. He needed to tag along to wherever this little party was going, but it was hard not to get into the way. There wasn't going to be any room on the barge for him.

Fortunately he was about to get some help. The whole time he had been stumbling about trying to figure out what was going on, he could see the girl with the horns watching him from the corner of her eyes. She was trying to hide it, trying not to turn her head and track him, but she couldn't take her eyes off of him, even as she was loaded onto the barge. When she saw he was heading for the water, she did an odd thing – she tripped on nothing, making it look like an accident, and fell off the barge into the water. There were shouts and cursing and splashing all about as she was retrieved.

Logan wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He joined the fracas, using all the noise to mask his own entry into the water. He made for the barge, grabbing hold of one of the sides, near the back where he probably wouldn't be noticed. He wished he could thank the girl for helping him – he still had no idea how she could even see him – but he didn't want to give himself away. He did see her smile at him just a little, as if all this amused her as much as it frightened her. He respected her spirit, he just hoped she didn't get herself killed on his behalf.

The girl was dumped back onto the barge and none too gently. One of the men gave her a good hard slap to the face. "Half wit bitch!"

She glared at him, unapologetic, and spat in his face.

That earned her a punch that nearly toppled her back off the barge again. One of the other kids grabbed for her, shouting, "Grace!"

She didn't respond but Logan saw her eyes flutter a bit and open partway. She would be okay, kids with that kind of spirit always were. On the other hand, she had gotten her own revenge of sorts, the man who had struck her was holding his hand and cursing, he had cut it on the edge of one her horns.

Logan chuckled to himself. _You go, girl. _

Now that he was up against the barge, Wolverine could see it was one of those long boats that wasn't motorized but was moved to the island by a couple of the guys pulling them along a large rope that lay under the water. The water was warm, fresh and sweet, oddly free of the chemical smells that the water back home seemed to have these days. Wherever this place was, it was far away from any industry.

The boat made its way to the island, a slow undertaking as it was done manually. At least the second, larger island was pretty close. The closer they got to the island, the stronger that strange smell was becoming – Logan had no question that whatever created that wonderful odor, it was from coming from there.

About twenty minutes later, the boat came to land and its unlucky cargo was unloaded ashore. They were met by a waiting party of several men with guns who were standing around another stack of boxes, the same kind that had been offloaded the truck when it had returned from its first run back to the warehouse. Once more the truck cargo was exchanged for the new boxes, ones that reeked of that same smell that was so strong here – Honey no doubt.

The boxes were exchanged and Logan was then left with a dilemma – should he return back home with the truck or stay and learn more? There was the chance that he could be stuck here a while. No wonder Fury never heard from his agents again – they couldn't be tracked from home, not from here.

_Well, I've never been known for my common sense, _Logan thought to himself and chose, following the group of prisoners as they were herded inland. He hadn't learned nearly enough to return so empty handed. He needed to know more – how many men Frost had here, what kind of weapons they had, and how many hostages were here. He also wanted to learn where the Honey was coming from and if it could be stopped.

The group was taking a path that led away from the beach and wound in between a large group of trees that resembled pines but surely weren't – they had a whole new smell that wasn't even close to pine. Not Honey, but not pine either. Yup, this wasn't home anymore, not by a long shot.

The path wound inland about half a mile and came to a small shanty town that had obviously been made by these newcomers. The buildings were mainly log cabin shacks, though Logan could see that there were three or four long buildings towards the back of the town. Those were sturdy buildings with cement foundations and not hastily cobbled together. They had glass windows and real doors. He could see wiring going from shack to shack and he could hear the low hum of a generator nearby. They had electricity.

He could see that to the left some of the trees had been cleared to make a small corral that held some horses and a couple of milk cows. A large handsome barn was attached to the back. A good sized chicken coop was to one side of that – these guys planned to be here a while.

There was much here to be learned and Wolverine was unsure of just where to start. The kids were led off to one of the long buildings, but Frost made for one of the bigger shacks. Free the kids or scope out the place? Truth be told, without an exit plan, rescuing the kids here would do him no good. He was better off doing some exploring and then going back for the kids once he figured out what he was going to do.

He chose to follow Frost first and did so, moving to the shack the man had gone into. He didn't follow the man inside, he didn't trust his cloak that much, but there was an open window on the side he could use easily enough.

"Morning," Frost greeted to someone.

"Is it?" came a soft reply. "I can never tell here."

This second person sounded young, a teenager possibly, though Logan had some difficulty pinning down the gender. It could be a young girl or a boy whose voice was on the verge of changing. He couldn't be certain. Whoever it was, they sounded scratchy and strained, tired. "How many of the unclean did you bring back with you this trip out?"

The kids. It had to be. Unclean. Logan had to bite down a growl that wanted to leak out. Religious nut jobs, they should all be dumped into the ocean and drowned. He hated them, these fanatics and their stupid ideas about why mutants had come about into the world and what their purpose was. Logan never really questioned these things, shit just happened and you simply had to accept that. No, these jerks always felt they had to "fix" it or use it as a clever excuse for what was really going on here – slave labor or possibly even genocide.

"Half a dozen or so," Frost replied. "I want them processed and out in the field as soon as possible, we're behind schedule."

Slave labor then. This was good. It meant the kids would not be harmed, not while they remained useful.

"Yes, sir."

"Are you all right?"

"It's my hand, sir. The dampness here, it bothers me sometimes. Toranado was better for it."

"Yes, it was warmer there. Just remember that we are doing the Lord's work, my child. We have to go where it takes us."

"Yes, sir. I wasn't complaining, sir."

"You never do. That is what makes you good."

"Thank you, sir." There was a pause and then, "There was another escape attempt while you were gone."

Frost cursed under his breath. "Why do they run? Can't they see how generous I have been? I offer them food and shelter and employment, more security than they could ever have on the streets, and still they rebel."

"It is a tragedy, sir," Frost's partner agreed with genuine remorse. It made Logan sick to hear it. As if jail was better than a life of freedom, even if it did come with food. These assholes.

"Yes, it is a crime that they have not responded to the program as well as you. Well, it is their loss. Was it bad?"

"No, sir. But three of them got away and haven't yet been found yet."

"It doesn't matter," Frost answered with something of a smile in his voice. "They've nowhere to go."

"On a happy note, Leroy has finally been caught."

"Really? And what of the demon that was protecting him?"

"Gone, sir. But Charlie is sure it got hurt. He claims he shot a full clip of bullets into it. If it was a living being, there's no way it walked away from it alive. It was bleeding all over he said."

Logan was bewildered at the strange conversation. Demons? He somehow doubted it. Most often what folks called demons were simply creatures that were misunderstood. Still, anything that was Frost's enemy was a potential ally. Perhaps there was help here for him if he could find it.

Frost's next words only confirmed Logan's guess. "I told them it was alive. Demons do not exist, not here protecting the weak anyhow. Too bad those superstitious fools wasted so much time getting rid of it."

"You are always so wise, sir."

_Kiss ass_, Logan couldn't help but think. Every one of these psychopathic losers always seemed to have one right by their side. Like they weren't happy unless there was someone right there, stroking their ego.

Logan straightened as he heard Frost make for the door and walk out. Logan left his position by the window and made to follow him. What he saw next stopped him in his tracks.

--

Logan had seen many bad things in his life, but this...

Next to the shack where he'd been overhearing Frost and this mysterious other person chatting was a very realistic looking garbage dumpster, something a bit out of place in this mostly rustic setting. Whomever had used it last was a bit of a slob and some of the garbage had spilled out onto the leaf covered ground. Amid a pile of spent medical supplies was an empty box for a product Wolverine knew all too well –- Supramax 87.

Supramax 87 was a controversial new product that had been splashed all over the news lately. It was a chemical sterilizer that was being pushed on habitual sexual offenders in the hopes that it would kill their sex drive and keep them from re-offending. It hadn't worked. Oh, it sterilized the recipient quite nicely and permanently -- unfortunately it also killed eleven percent of those it was given to. There were enough folks out there that were sympathetic even to the sexual monsters out in the world that this product was now on hold, but apparently Frost had gotten a hold of it and it didn't take a rocket scientist to guess what he was using it for.

_You sick son of a bitch! _Logan screamed on the inside, fighting the urge to pop his claws and run after the man to gut him right then and there.

Wolverine swallowed his anger, he was on the job here and that meant letting things slide, saving the revenge for later. The whole point of his being here was to plan the man's demise. He would be sure to put whatever knowledge he gained here to good use. If not, he would see to taking the man out personally, something he would surely relish. He rummaged in his backpack, took out a camera and began snapping pictures of all the garbage here, fingering through some of it and collecting samples in plastic evidence bags he'd brought along. He was sure to grab a Supramax wrapper as proof.

That done, he quickly trailed Frost's scent. He found the man a little further down the path to another large barn with an attached corral. These guys sure loved their horses, but with no real roads he could understand why. There were three horses inside the corral - a black, a dapple and a patchwork brown and white. Frost was at the fence, greeting the large dapple, patting the beast and stroking his long face, saying loving words of praise. Frost moved to the barn and the same horse followed, going inside. Moments later Frost came out, mounted and ready.

Logan trailed the man, still being stealthy in spite of being cloaked. If Grace could see past his disguise, than maybe others here could as well. Frost made his way to one of the long buildings in the back, one that appeared to be a barracks of some sort. There were two guards out front. Frost nodded at them as he passed and kept going.

Logan was torn, follow Frost or check out the barracks? Well, he was going to be here a while, seeing as how he had no immediate way of getting home. He might as well take a peek around. He could catch up with Frost later.

The barracks was good sized, similar to military temporary housing. This building could house up to fifty people, depending on how the beds were arranged. A quick peek through one of the windows showed bunk beds that seemed clean enough. It was Spartan living though, no personal items were around. There was a small wood stove in the center for extra warmth though it seemed warm enough here at the moment for it not to be needed. The barracks was occupied -- a small group of kids were getting dressed, putting on rough coveralls and smocks with large silver crosses on the front, something the ultra-religious Frost must have devised, no doubt. It didn't escape Logan's notice that all these kids were male, but then in most prison camps, the inmates were often separated by gender.

The guards came into the building, waving their guns around, getting the kids moving on the double. They were all hustled out and met there by two more guards on horseback that had come along the path. The mounted pair then escorted the freshly dressed kids off down the path and into the trees, the same way Frost went. Logan took advantage of the now empty barracks and snapped a few shots with his camera, collecting as much evidence as he could. The camera was quite sophisticated, expensive and flashless, but he was taking no chances on being seen.

The two guards that had gotten the kids moving remained at the barracks door, only they were much more relaxed and cheery now with nothing to do. They were smoking, joking around. "Still find it funny, them kids with them crosses, all hopeful like. It ain't like they're really gonna be saved."

"That's just Frost tryin' to keep their spirits up. Too bad they were cursed the day they were born. Sweet Hell is all they have to look forward to and good riddance," his friend replied with an arrogant sneer. "What I do find endlessly amusing is how Frost has that one sweet little bitch of his all curbed at the heel. Poor little fuck."

The other nodded, a knowing gleam in his eye. "Little Julie-One-Hand."

"Don't know how Frost does it, how he gets them to follow him like little lambs, but it sure is funny to watch. The man has a silver tongue. He can talk the knickers off a nun, but I am still amazed he got Little Julie to actually volunteer for sterilization. He's even got her wearing her own special little smock to prove it. I swear Little Julie-One-Hand would suck the man's balls if he asked it."

"Maybe he does," the second man teased. "Julie spends more time in Frost's office than anywhere else."

Logan nodded to himself. Little Julie-One-Hand must have been the other voice from Frost's office. The soft one. At least now he had a name – Julie. It made him sick to think that one of his own kind would gladly serve Frost, but then maybe Frost just had the girl duped. Frost was an excellent preacher. He had to be, to never run out of followers. The man was never on his own.

The first guard just snorted. "Nah, Frost knows better than to let those monsters touch him. Besides, that leaves all the more for us. Some of them ain't so bad if you can get past the fact that they're all a bunch of freaks."

One of them nodded towards a smaller shack nearby, "Speaking of which, we gonna go visit the ladies?"

"Time to save some souls!" the other man crowed.

The two men made for the other building and Logan followed. They went inside and Logan found himself another window to peek through and watch.

This barracks was set up the same as the last, only with fewer bunk beds. The reason for that soon became obvious – this was less of a barracks and more of a brothel. All the occupants were girls. Most of them were good looking and attractive but clearly misused –some were bruised and battered, others sported mutant restraining collars to curb their powers. The men walked in without knocking and the girls scattered, at least the ones still fresh enough to be afraid. A couple didn't have the will to move and they made the easiest targets. One of the guards wasted no time, he tossed one down and undressed her, getting down to business quickly.

Logan once again had to suppress a growl and an urge to pop claws. So very typical of men with captives, so very awful. Unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do about it at the moment, he was one man here alone and outnumbered, on a fact gathering mission. No one was supposed to know he was here. There were too many men here for him to take on alone. If he tried to take them down on his own and failed, these guys would probably bail and move somewhere even more unreachable. He couldn't take that chance, no matter how heartbreaking things were here. He did make sure to remember these men's faces. Their comeuppance would be coming soon. On that they could count. He tore himself away from the window, not wanting to see any more, and kept moving, down the way Frost had gone.

Frost was out of sight, but his horse was now loosely tethered to a hitching post at yet another long building. This was no barracks, judging by the smell. There was sickness and blood here, this was a makeshift hospital or lab. It made sense that there would be a building like this, there were enough people living here that a hospital would be necessary, but then there were also those boxes of Supramax. They had to be applied somewhere that the patients could be monitored. Guess this was the place.

Frost was just making his rounds and not staying here long, Logan had only waited just a moment before Frost came back out the front door. He was followed by an assistant with a clipboard in one hand. Logan wasn't the brightest man, but one look at the assistant's mangled right hand told him this was Little Julie-One-Hand, the one from Frost's office. The buildings were not that far apart, she must have followed Frost here from the office as Logan was looking in on the barracks and away from the path.

She was slender of build, lucky if she was even sixteen years old. There was a sort of thinness to her face and neck that spoke of malnutrition and hard living. In spite of the warmth here, she had a hooded sweatshirt over her coveralls, making it even harder to see her features. It was enough to make Logan wonder if she was sick in some way that kept her malnourished. It was hard to get a good look at her face, a shock of long reddish blonde hair fell over her eyes and was long around her shoulders. Just as the guards had spoken of, she wore a long, loose sleeveless smock over her coveralls just as the other kids did, only hers had a long shimmering golden cross down the back and front, marking her as special.

Frost was giving Julie orders as they walked out. "I want them processed today. The female, the one with horns, if she survives, send her to the men. They'll like her."

"Yes, sir."

That nearly sent Logan off. Grace. She had been so strong and spirited. He couldn't bear the thought of her being raped. It was becoming increasingly hard for him to hold his temper. This place was a nightmare, run by fanatics who deserved the hell they were so quick to impose on those they thought were unworthy.

Frost paused, hearing something in Julie's voice. "I know you think the practice is cruel, my child, but it is all part of the conditioning. You want her soul to be cleansed, don't you? That can only come from suffering. No one knows this better than you."

"Yes, sir," she replied, her voice uplifting a little with happiness as though Frost had actually said something reasonable and not horrifying.

"Good, then. You'd best get to it."

"Yes, sir."

Julie sat on the steps of the building as Frost left, all the better to rest and do some of the paperwork she was carrying. She scribbled with her right hand, awkwardly steadying the clipboard with her left. The hand was in bad shape, the fingers were curled together into a crude, clumsy fist, unusable. Logan squinted, he couldn't help but see something familiar in the way the kid moved. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't quite place her. Of course, he had seen a large number of street kids over the years. She might even be a student that had once come to Xavier's and had left for whatever reason.

Julie finished her paperwork and stood stiffly as though tired and sore. She looked around, seeing if she was alone. Seeing she was, she tucked her clipboard under one arm, shuffled over to the side of the building and stood facing it. She fumbled awkwardly with her clothing, confusing Logan as to guessing what the heck she was doing, until he realized to his surprise that she was urinating against the building. She was no she, she was a he.

Julie, Julie, Julie. Frost's little bitch. Well, no one likes a kiss ass, not even bad guys. It was no surprise that they would come up with a nickname for the lad. The boy stepped back, straightened his clothing and passed a bit closer by Logan as he moved back towards the center of the town. It gave Logan a better peek at that hand. At first he had thought the hand was deformed, but no, it was badly mangled, as though it had been smashed once and never allowed to properly heal. That must have smarted.

Logan also caught two more things – the soft winking of a mutant control collar around the boy's neck, one he didn't seem to be fighting. That was no real surprise if he was one of Frost's flunkies, Logan supposed. Thing was, not many of the kids Logan had seen here had such a collar if any. That could mean this boy possessed a powerful talent, one that Frost wasn't willing to have loose and running around far.

There was also the smell of blood. This boy had been injured recently, cut probably, but it wasn't properly bandaged wherever it was under his loose clothing. In such a rural setting, even the simplest of cuts could lead to trouble.

_Well, when did a teenager ever show much sense anyhow? _Logan thought to himself.

Logan was unsure if he should follow Frost or the boy, but was halted anyway when his ears caught an odd sound, there were soft sobs coming from one of the smaller outbuildings nearby.

--

Curious yet cautious, Wolverine snuck through the tall grass and bushes closer to the sound. He found a small circle of shacks, hardly larger than full sized dog houses. He could smell blood and fear here and guessed that this was a sort of jail area, shacks where prisoners were being held.

Most of the little houses were occupied, he could smell that much at least. He crept closer to the shack where the crying was coming from. The shack was crudely made and there were large gaps in between the ruined and rotting boards, down near the ground where it was damp and wet. He crawled down on his belly, getting a closer look through the hole in the boards. He did his best and saw in the dim, observing a small rumpled creature, more animal than human, chained to the wall. The scent told him it was a man or most likely a boy judging by its diminutive size, with goat like legs complete with little cloven hooves. The poor fellow was crying softly, fearful and miserable.

Logan was encouraged, the prisoner was small, possibly even a child. If he could bring this one back with him, he might get some useful information about this place. Even better, if he made it look like an escape, Frost and his men might not even notice the little fella was gone. "Psst! Hey, kid!" he dared to whisper, hoping there were no guards nearby to overhear.

The creature froze in fear, instantly silent.

"It's okay. I'm here to help. Over here, by the wall."

The prisoner uncovered a bit and Logan saw that this was no child, but was instead a wizened old man, small and wrinkled. He had a scraggly beard stained with blood from his beating and elven pointed ears to match his small little goat legs. A creature more myth than real. "Who are you?" he rasped, turning around and peering at the hole where Logan was crouched. "Traveler? Is that you? You were so very brave... I was foolish to risk getting you hurt..."

"Nope, just someone trying to shut these mooks down. What's yer name?"

"I'm Leroy," the prisoner replied, daring to come even closer. He was smart in spite of being so battered, doing his best not to rattle his chains and draw attention to himself. "I cannot see you..."

"That's no accident. I'm cloaked so the guards won't see me. I'd shut it off but I don't want to get caught."

Wolverine expected the guy to question that, cloaks were something out of science fiction books, but he got a different sort of question instead, "You are from Otherworld, aren't you?"

"Otherworld?"

"From beyond the door by the dock."

"Yeah, that's me. What do ya say I get you outta here and we take a little trip?" Wolverine was actually quite pleased that this was no child. The older the prisoner was, the better his information might be. Children were not so reliable.

"I am afraid that won't be possible. I cannot leave Twilight."

"Twilight?"

"That's the name of where you are, my boy," Leroy replied not unkindly. Closer now to the peephole where he lay, Logan could see that Leroy was abused, but not dispirited. There was still some strength in him. "You're not in Otherworld anymore."

"I figured that," Wolverine grumbled gruffly. Twilight, it was appropriate. It was so dim and grey here. "Look I ain't got much time. I need to know how to close this place down. They're kidnappin' kids and sellin' drugs. It has ta stop."

"Yes, indeed. That man Frost, he stole my yum-yum flowers. That's just not polite."

Wolverine growled inwardly. Flowers? What did they matter? Maybe the guy wasn't so right in the head as he'd thought. "Look, just come with me, okay? No one's gonna hurt you."

Leroy grinned, showing bloodied, cracked teeth. "I told you, son. To Otherworld I cannot go, it would mean my death, but I can at least see to it that you can get safely back."

Logan blinked at that. It hadn't really occurred to him how he might get back home, other than to try and hitch a ride back the way he came, something difficult and dangerous. He had known early that this was a recon mission only, at least for the now. He didn't have the ability to close this place down on his own, at least if he wanted to do it with minimal casualties. There were too many men here with guns, he was going to have to return with a bit more firepower.

"How ya gonna get me back?"

"The yum-yum flowers of course. The flowers are filled with Honey. The Honey is your drug, my rescuer. Drink the Honey and catch one of the moths, the brown ones with emerald hearts. They will take you home."

Logan blinked in disbelief at what clearly made no sense. Okay, yeah. This guy obviously had taken one too many blows to the head. "Right."

Leroy just laughed. "Trust me. The yum-yum flowers are what Frost took from me. He asked me their secrets and I trusted him to my own peril. He took them and is using their sweet Honey to no good end. They are growing them in the fields behind the tall orwen trees. There, to your left."

Logan turned and looked. The directions made some sense, the strange sweet smell that hung in the air seemed stronger that way.

"You will have to be careful," Leroy said, "...the flowers are heavily guarded. But the guards seem a bit lax these days. It's not like the prisoners can go anywhere."

Logan was about to speak but he heard voices coming. He ducked and cowered, not wanting to be overheard. The men passed by without noticing him, uniformed guys with automatic weapons. He looked back and saw that Leroy had gone back to his corner. He wasn't going to come. This conversation, strange as it had been, was now over.

Logan hated to leave him but there was no help for it. He couldn't drag the guy kicking and screaming. Logan moved on, exploring further, going towards the smell. He didn't find the flowers, at least not at first. In his path was a clearing that held not flowers, but neat rows of freshly dug graves.

_Just how much more crap am I gonna find before I just say 'fuck it' and start slashing up the place? _Logan couldn't help but ask himself.

He took out his camera once more and snapped a few shots of the graves, wanting his proof that these sick fucks had to go down and go down hard. His pausing there made him notice something. He crept around the edge of the field, less interested in the graves now and the ominous message there. What had caught his eye was another small shack at one corner of the clearing. It might have more than rusty tools inside. The door was unlocked and he slipped inside. He saw not tools, but something more interesting – shelves with cardboard boxes. A quick peek at one showed it was filled with personal effects – photos and cell phones and wallets. They were probably from all the hostages if not just the deceased. Without completely knowing why, he dumped the contents of that one box into his backpack, if only to give some closure to the dead. The box looked old, unopened for some time, but he wanted to look through the contents just the same when he had more time.

Wolverine next headed for the yum-yum flowers. He had his doubts about what Leroy had said about the flowers helping him to return home, but he felt he should check out the fields anyway. The closer Logan had come to the flowers, the stronger the smell became. It was sickly sweet and cloying, the name Honey was aptly given.

He saw right away that Leroy was correct when he said that Frost clearly prized them. Leroy had been right about the guards – the fields were well guarded by armed men on horseback who overlooked gangs of kids working the flowers. The flowers were brightly colored and similar to tulips, the kids were tipping the large heavy blossoms over plastic pitchers and collecting a clear liquid that spilled out.

The multicolored blossoms were watched over by more than horsemen with guns. The air was filled with fluttering brown moths, the ones Leroy must have been talking about. They flitted about from flower to flower, occasionally landing long enough to sip the sweet nectar within. Logan snatched at one and ensnared it easily, the air was filled with too many of them for him to miss. He was careful not to crush it and slowly opened his cupped hands for a closer look. The moth was brown but had no spots of green. He was about to dismiss Leroy's words until he saw another one streak by his eyes, this one flashing bright green heart shaped splotches on its wings. It seemed not all the moths here were equal.

If he hadn't been on the job and focusing more on the surroundings around him, Wolverine might have noticed something all too familiar about these moths, that he had seen them before but in a much different place. Now, out of context, they meant nothing to him. He might have made the connection eventually, but fate had other plans for him. Logan was looking around, trying to get a head count of the guards. He figured there were as many as forty men here. He took a single step, still considering the possibilities of moths and guards, when he heard a familiar yet ominous click under his left foot. He hissed under his breath, "Oh, you mutherfucker...!"

Bouncing Betties. How he hated them. Of course it was his own stupidity that he hated more at the moment. He really hadn't expected boobie traps, not here. Usually he could sniff out most explosive devices like this, but the Honey was so strong here, it was screwing up his sense of smell. Crap.

This wasn't the first time he had made this same mistake. He'd had the misfortune of stepping on Betties three previous times – the first never went off, the second was old ordinance and not so bad, the third one had been horrible. He had lost most of the flesh on one leg from that one and it was only the metal in his bones that had kept it from being any worse. He was smart enough since then to have learned from it... or so he had thought.

What to do, what to do? Well, his first priority was to protect all the evidence he'd gathered. Fragging the crap out of his leg was one thing, but the pictures and items he had picked up, those were irreplaceable. He would have to do this carefully. The thing with Betties was that you were safe until you displaced enough weight to set the trigger off.

Moving as gently as he could, he carefully slipped off his backpack, thankful it wasn't so heavy, in the hopes of preserving all the evidence he had worked so hard to collect. He got that off well enough and dropped it to the ground off to the side where it wasn't likely to be damaged. That done, he prepared himself for the worst. There was no way he was going to get off this stupid thing without injury. He cupped one hand over his balls, mumbled a soft prayer for mercy, and stepped back.

Wolverine, in spite of his prayer, wasn't lucky enough for it to be a dud -- the explosion was loud and mind numbing right up close. He howled in agony as a red hot fire ripped up from below, shredding the flesh from between his legs and setting his guts on fire. He fell over in an ungraceful lump of nearly paralyzed limbs, his head just barely missing the trunk of a tree. It was bad, worse than the last time, unless his memory had simply allowed him the luxury of forgetting. He had no time for it. One quick glance exposed an even greater worry than some of his insides now being on the outside – the hand that he had tried to protect his balls with had been the one with his cloaking bracelet. It hadn't taken the blast well and he was now visible to anyone who happened to look. Of course now the guards had been alerted and were coming fast.

"Hey! You there!" he saw rather than heard one of the guards shouting, pointing in his direction. Logan was deaf now from the explosion, but that wasn't his biggest problem. He had to get out of here. The man was on horseback and had to dismount to get through the shrubbery, buying Logan some time.

Wolverine had no choice but to take Leroy at his word. He grabbed his backpack, loosely slinging it over the crook of one arm and sloppily dragged his bloody, mangled body out into the flowers. The Honey was overpowering now, spilling out of the crushed blossoms and out over his skin, tingling now as it slid over his injuries.

That was okay, he needed it now. He lunged for and caught one of the special moths, tipping his head sideways and into the flowers, spilling some more of the precious Honey into his mouth. Liquid heat now burned within as well as without, and Logan fell back onto the grass, gasping as everything went suddenly black. He was spinning, he was falling, he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Notes: Thanks to all who read and reviewed. It's always good to hear from you. :)

To Dogo and those of similar thinking, I haven't finished writing this series yet, but the way things stand now, I have no plans to make this a Siskan centric story. The guys are here to give an assist to the X-men and all that, but there will be no new Siskans introduced and none of the guys will get new powers or anything like that. The focus of this series is Twilight and the people that are found there.

------------------------------

(Four)

Kimble was well on his way to losing his tenth round of cards when he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. He had set up the views from the outside cameras onto the main screen, just to help keep an eye on things happening below outside the warehouse. They wanted to know if anyone else besides Logan should come in or out.

Kimble paused and squinted, taking a closer look. Outside in the alley, near some overturned garbage cans, was a man thrashing on the ground. He hadn't been there a moment ago. "Uh, Rems..."

Gambit looked up and followed where Kimble was looking. He got up on one knee, trying for a closer look. In the gloom it was hard to make out. "Is dat Logan...?"

"I'll goes," Kimble offered without hesitation and got up. He went out the door and took off at a run, vaulting silently off the roof. He flew down swiftly, keeping to the shadows and away from the light. He was cautious as he approached the writhing man, he still couldn't tell if it was Logan or not, there was something not right about the body. He wasn't sure of it was the garbage or not, but there was a strange smell here, like crushed flowers and sickly sweet candy.

As if sensing the Siskan's approach, the flailing man stilled and then snarled a warning in Kimble's direction, sounding more like a dog than a man. "Easy there, fella..." Kimble soothed, holding up a hand that asked for patience.

The man raised his head and hissed at him, showing yellowed eyes and large white fangs, larger than anything Wolverine already possessed. He was filthy and dressed in rags, partially covered by the ruptured bags of garbage that lay strewn about. It was hard to get a good look at him.

Kimble froze, thinking he might have made a mistake. The man's rumpled clothing looked like shredded black leather that could have been Logan's uniform, but he was also covered in dark black body hair, far more than Logan usually had, and those fangs... Kimble took a step back, almost tripping on something at his feet. He looked behind him and saw a black backpack, the same one Wolverine had left with.

Kimble wasn't the brightest bulb in the pack, but he was far from stupid. This was Logan, it had to be, but something had been done to him to change him. That explained the strange smell as well. Best to pick him up and ask questions later, hopefully after the guy had calmed down some. Kimble picked up the backpack and slid it on, his eyes never leaving the snarling bundle of feral rage in front of him. It was just as well that he had been the one to come, the others might not be able to handle Wolverine in this state. Kimble, being telekinetic, had the advantage.

Without saying anything more, Kimble used his power to raise them both off the ground, flying them back up to the roof and to the Dragon 2. He kept a good sized space between them, he wasn't about to let Wolverine snatch and claw at him. As the garbage fell away from Logan's body, Kimble could see that the guy had been seriously injured, his legs were mangled and bloody, little more than metallic bones with hanging scraps of shredded flesh. While an injury like that would be enough to send Logan feral, it didn't explain the extra body hair and elongated fangs.

Kimble flew them both into the Dragon 2, careful with the man as he lay him down on the passenger seats. The others came close, just as mystified at Logan's condition as Kimble was. Wolverine was thrashing, trying to claw and bite at them. He was contained, held in place telekinetically by Kimble's powerful mind, and unable to hurt them.

"Sacre merde..." Remy breathed, shocked by Logan's appearance. They guy looked like some kind of werewolf, all furry and fanged. One that had been tossed through a meat grinder - he was also bleeding all over the place. "Kim, get de first aid kit."

"It's got Bactine and band-aids in it. I thinks this might be beyonds that," Kimble replied, being ironic without meaning to be. The guy was slashed and bleeding all over the newly installed seats. They were not going to have fun cleaning that mess up. "Maybe kin packs him with clean towels from the lav if we kin gits him calmed down."

Remy nodded and Kimble left for the towels. That was the easy part, now for the hard. Remy concentrated, attempting to use his empathy to calm the wounded man's rage. He thought of his precious wife, the love he felt for his twins, the thrill of flight. He sent out those feelings of love and joy, hoping they might get Logan back into a normal frame of mind.

Wolverine calmed, letting out a startled grunt of surprise at the sudden influx of good feelings, but it was only for a moment. His legs were mangled and no amount of joy was going to get him past the pain of that. Not to mention that he was still tripping on the Honey, something that was clouding his mind. He resumed his flailing and clawing, his eyes bloodshot and red.

Aiden snorted with an amused half smile. "Amateurs," he teased Remy's way and reached out himself, using much greater talent than Gambit possessed. He held out his hands, still out of reach, and released a small cloud of Morrowhiem glitter.

Not all empaths are created equal, any X-man could tell you that. This was also equally true of these empathic Siskans. Aiden was no Rogue, but he was still blessed with his own gifts. His empathy was strong enough to be physically seen and he wasn't afraid to use it. He usually reserved the Morrowhiem for those he loved best, it was typically only Kimble that received the pleasure of it this these days, but he wasn't beyond using it to help out in a pinch. The glitter couldn't outright heal the wounded man, but it would put the guy in a much better frame of mind.

Logan jerked as the glitter cascaded over his ravaged legs and shuddered hard. The pain from his injury vanished and all he felt was another sort of blissful high. One much better than the Honey had given him. His eyes closed and he relaxed, finally calming down. It was lasting, he no longer fought as Aiden next began to strip off the rags of his tattered clothing and packed his legs with the clean towels Kimble had brought. That finished, Aiden next covered him with a blanket. The injuries Logan had sustained were severe, mortal to any normal human. Aiden didn't let this faze him, he spoke softly, whispering soft comforts in Siskan as he worked, the glitter still wisping off his hands as he moved.

"Karen...?" Logan breathed drunkenly, tears from the strain leaking from his eyes. Karen was the name of his wife, the woman he loved best.

Aiden chuckled softly. "Not quite, but Aiden will forgive," he gently teased. He understood the confusion, the Morrowhiem took away the worst of the pain but it often also sexually aroused the recipient. The intoxicated man was too messed up to fully realize both where he was and what exactly had been done to him. At least his pain was gone.

"What happened to him?" Remy asked Kimble, as if the Siskan would know just by having found him.

"Don't knows," Kimble answered. "But his pack is full."

Kimble started to rummage through it, but Remy thought better of it and stopped him. "Best we get 'im 'ome, eh? We get 'im fixed up proper and den maybe Chuck can 'elp us figure out what 'appened to 'im."

"He smells funny, like candy."

"Non, not candy. Honey," Remy surmised. That was what was supposedly being sold out of the warehouse after all. He had been told about its effects on mutants, that it changed them and most often not for the better. Logan would probably be luckier than most, with his ability to regenerate and heal, he would probably come out of it with nothing more than a headache and a bad hair day. "Let's get 'im 'ome."

"Right."

Kimble shoved the pack under the seats and went back to his pilot stick, preparing for the flight home. Aiden stayed with Logan at the passenger seats without having to be told. He couldn't make good shields like Kimble could, but he was strong enough to hold Logan back if it came to that. Aiden doubted it, the feral man had fallen asleep now that his rage had been dissipated. Already Aiden could see the man's healing factor start to kick in now that it wasn't being fought against.

Logan was quiet for most of the trip home. Aiden sifted through the man's shredded clothing, looking for clues. The only thing of interest that caught his eye was the crushed body of a brown furry moth. It was dappled brown with emerald heart shapes on the wings. Aiden didn't recognize it, but he had an idea that it still might be important. He put it aside to be looked at later.

After a half hour nap, when they were still just a few minutes out, Logan began to wake. His healing factor had held him in good stead — as he had slept, Aiden had checked on him, seeing that the residual effects of the Honey had worn off. The extra body hair receded and his eyes and teeth returned to normal. Unlike most other mutants, he had been able to handle the temporary secondary mutation without dying. His legs had also healed up somewhat – the cuts had sealed and he was no longer bleeding. He was less a bit of flesh, he looked like an anorexic man from the waist down with hardly any muscle covering the long bones of his thighs, but that would be made up for in time.

Logan opened his eyes and blinked, struggling to get his bearings. The last he'd known, he was being shot at in Twilight.

"Reszt now, you are almoszt 'ome."

Wolverine grunted softly in greeting, he'd know that voice anywhere. It seemed that Leroy's words had been correct, the Honey and the moths had seen him safely home. "Where'd ya find me?"

"Outszide ze warehousze on ze ground. You were szick and injured, but you are better now. Do you 'ave much pain?"

"If I do, it don't matter. Where are we?"

"About ten minutes out," Remy answered from his stick, glancing behind him to see that his teammate was okay. "I called ahead, dere will be a medical team waiting for us."

Logan sat up stiffly. "Don't need it. Tell them to call Fury, I need to see him right away."

"You should get more reszt," Aiden insisted. He could see that the guy was still badly injured even if he could not. "You legsz, zey are shredded. You losze much blood."

"I'll be fine. This is too important. Tell them to call Fury. Now."

Remy nodded, obeying the order and sending out a message.

Logan looked down at his body, the blanket had shifted from his movement, enough for him to know he was naked. He glanced at Aiden with some discomfort, uneasy with the way Aiden was looking at him though there was no hostile intent in the Siskan's eyes. Logan wasn't homophobic per se, but the oversexed nature of Siskans made him nervous. "You got something I can wear?"

"Keemble'sz szweatsz are in ze lav. Zey were clean juszt disz morning."

"That'll do."

Aiden nodded and rose. He came back with more than Kimble's sweat pants, he also brought a wet face cloth and a bottle of water. Logan nodded at his thoughtfulness and dressed awkwardly, his legs were still numb. The cuts had sealed and the towels had soaked up most of the blood. He was already regaining some of the lost muscle, but he was still in pretty bad shape. Aiden offered to help him, but he refused, not wanting to seem that helpless. Even so, he might need help walking out of here. He wasn't sure his legs could support him in this state. The wet cloth was cool and sweet on his face and water delicious. Healing from so severe an injury was hard on his body. He would need to eat soon as well.

"How long was I gone?" he asked just for something to say.

"About forty-five minute or szo," Aiden answered.

"That's impossible," Logan countered. "I was on the island for at least a couple of hours, if not more."

"Island?" Aiden questioned, unsure of the man was still intoxicated. "What island?"

Logan squinted at him, getting it. If he was transported to some other place, time there might not be the same as time here. "Forget it. We almost there, Rems?"

"Two more minutes," came the reply, the thief looking back at him again with more than normal curiosity. At least he was sensible enough not to ask more questions Wolverine wasn't likely to answer.

He and Kimble landed the craft out on the runway outside the Complex and they all helped Logan out and down the ramp. They were met by a couple of nurses and a wheelchair. At first Logan's initial thought was to refuse the chair, but he was simply much too tired at the moment. He would need it if he wanted to debrief Charles and Fury.

"Is Fury here?"

"He'll be here in twenty minutes," one of the nurses answered. "We'll take you down to medical and get you looked at."

"No, have Charles warm up a meeting room and get me there. This can't wait."

"But, sir...?"

"Best not to argue, non?" Remy teased, though his eyes were a little hard. There was some lingering resentment at not being invited along the mission, even if had ended a bit badly. "De man more stubborn dan an overpacked mule."

Wolverine saw it, and felt generous enough to suggest, "Maybe you'd better come along for the meeting, kid. I have my way, we're going right back as soon as possible."

"D'accorde," Remy agreed quickly, happier now.

-----------------------

Wolverine sifted through the pile of personal items he had brought back with him from Twilight. He was down in the meeting room he had requested and he had dumped out the contents of his backpack for them to go over. Nick Fury was here, not the least bit upset at having to be recalled back so soon. Charles was at the table with Remy beside him, all of them trying to make sense of what Logan had collected.

Wolverine had briefed them quickly on what he had seen – the mutant kids, the rough conditions, the SupraMax, the brothel, meeting Leroy, and most importantly, the graveyard. He had Fury's attention, the man was already talking about how they might proceed.

He was listening as Fury talked, but at the same time he was trying to identify with the nameless group of people he was trying to save. The more he sympathized with them, the more angry he would become. That anger would help him get through this. His fingers sought and found a small stack of photos that had come from that cardboard box in the shed. He idly thumbed through them until one made him pause in shock and surprise. "Rems," he said in a soft whisper.

Remy had been talking to Fury, but he heard Logan's call just the same. "Oui?"

Blue eyes met red and black as Wolverine flipped up the last photo he'd seen.

Gambit's face showed only confusion. He took the picture and stared at it, demanding it give up its secrets. He flipped it over, looking for a name scrawled on the back but there was nothing. "Where you get dis?"

"With all the rest," Logan answered, gesturing to the pile of pitiful clothing and effects.

"What?" Nick asked, rudely taking the small Polaroid from Gambit's hand. It seemed quite ordinary to him, but on closer inspection, he saw where there might be some concern. It showed a man and a woman naked and tossed on a cheesy hotel bed. The woman was blonde and skanky, nothing notable about her except for an unusually large and expensive looking necklace around her neck that she was holding up like a prize. The man next to her was immediately recognizable. It was Gambit himself.

"Nice," Nick grunted in disdain. "Thought a pretty boy like you could score better than that."

Remy wasn't listening, he took the photo back and kept staring at it.

"Got something you want to confess?" Wolverine asked, a less than friendly grin on his face. Remy's wife, Molly, was his niece.

Gambit's eyes shot up to meet his, the look hard as he tried to control his temper. He hadn't liked Logan's tone or the inference that he'd been unfaithful. One close look at the picture would have answered Logan's question but the man hadn't had the patience. This photo was quite old, clearly from his more promiscuous days.

Gambit's fingers started to glow faintly pink and he switched the photo from one hand to the other, not wanting to charge it by accident and ruin it. This had been happening lately, these spikes in energy that sometimes happened when he was upset, something he had tried very much to hide.

He knew exactly why this was happening, even though he hadn't said anything to anyone. When he had been injured during the Game, the Rogue Siskan Star had used her powerful Morrowhiem glitter to try and heal him. Aiden's Morrowhiem could uplift a person's spirit enough to send them on the road to getting better, but Star's could outright heal. She had done more than help him recover from being so emotionally traumatized from the fighting. She had actually restored his ability to create higher levels of kinetic energy, in effect reversing a surgical procedure that had been done years ago to blunt it.

Remy was much older now and wiser. Unlike when he was young, he now had the maturity of an adult and the X-man training to deal with it. He no longer feared this and as long as he kept his emotions under control, was not afraid of harming anyone. It wasn't all that different than his empathy, really, that too could be used as a weapon if he wasn't careful.

Usually a nice long flight in the Dragon 2 like they had just taken was enough to burn off the edge enough to keep his power levels low for a while. This had just caught him by surprise. His voice was sharp as he retorted, "Dat wasn't even close to funny, patron."

"Was she a mutant?" Charles interrupted, not wanting to witness a fight.

Remy tried to think. The picture was from a long time ago, at least fifteen years back if not more. One look at his naked body told him that, the scars he'd received from Sabretooth during the Morlock Massacre were missing. For all he knew this was only days before he had led the Marauders down into those tunnels. He'd been on his own then, lonely, driven, looking for the next thrill to take the loss of his Thieves' Guild family out of his mind. He had ended up in New Jersey after his exile and had robbed a drug lord of some stature, taking his jewels and art and then setting the bastard up to be caught. The DEA was quite happy with the anonymous prize they had been given. The man had ended up in jail for life.

Gambit meanwhile had celebrated his successful heist. Got himself a few bottles of booze and couple of whores and had himself a blast. He barely remembered the whole thing, really. He'd gotten quite trashed. It was the necklace that brought him back now. It had been a huge, gaudy thing that he could never really sell without getting busted. No, he'd given that expensive trinket to the woman in the picture, a generous tip.

Remy hadn't been anywhere near as strong with the empathy then, but he could still get a sense about people. Mutants were actually quite rare in the general population. He strongly doubted that either of his partners in celebration that night had been mutants. He would have tried to recruit them instead. So why would this battered photo be in this stack?

"I don't t'ink so, non," Remy answered eventually. "But it wasn't like I asked 'er or anyt'ing. It wouldn't be anyt'ing real obvious if she was."

"There were lots of girls in that barracks, maybe she was one of them," Logan offered. "I didn't see them all."

Remy shuddered at the thought of her being one of them. While he had used his share of girls, he had always treated them well. He had never forced any of them and the idea of rape galled him. He didn't like the idea of anyone, especially someone he had known, being harmed in that way.

"Is dere anyt'ing else?" Remy asked next, starting to paw through the clothes and junk.

"I have no idea," Wolverine answered. He started to spread the stuff out, but how could you identify what belonged to whom with such a mismatched jumble of items? There were clothes, shoes, toys, and jewelry, relics from a vast range of subjects. The thief's hands worked fast, but he couldn't find any more clues. There had to be a reason why this picture was there.

"You remember her name?" Nick asked with some sarcasm, trying to work this.

If Remy was offended, he showed no sign. Well, not to Nick. Logan heard with some concern the change in Gambit's heart rate, though his teammate tried to hide it as he spoke. "Non. Most times, de filles lie nohow."

_What're you hidin', boy? _Logan thought to himself, but didn't speak it. He understood that Gambit was a private man, that he kept his secrets, but if this woman's identity could help them discover what Frost was up to, they needed to know.

Nick grunted and took out a notepad to scribble on. What Remy had said was true of course. Prostitutes were a private bunch. Almost as private as thieves. "Well, if you remember anything, let me know. Maybe we can backtrack how these guys are finding the mutants they take."

Remy nodded and watched as Nick started to gather up the items he had brought. "Can I keep dis?" he asked, holding up the photo.

"Not the original. It might have a clue we need."

"You can scan it here," Charles offered, gesturing to the back corner where some computer equipment was located.

Remy nodded and went about scanning it. As he worked he spoke, giving Logan some of his answers. "Don' recall 'er name, but dis girl from Jersey. Gonna take de Dragon and go check it out. See if dere's any report fo' missin' persons dere. Gonna check in wit Etienne, too."

Nick nodded, happy to get anything rolling on this. "Keep in touch."

Remy finished his scan, bobbed his head and was out the door, his mind racing. He couldn't get out of there fast enough. Of course he knew he knew her name, he'd always had a head for that sort of thing, especially when a particular girl had pleased him more than most. He made his way down the hallway, dialing his cell phone quickly as he walked. "Dreamer? You guys still up?" It had been a long day and it was now quite late.

"Yesz, but Keem isz aszleep."

That was no surprise, Kimble always did sleep more than Aiden did and flying did take something out of him. Just the same, Remy ordered, "Get 'im up, s'il vous plait. We goan back out again."

"All right. Give usz a few minutesz."

"You got ten."

"Aye," Aiden replied, no questions asked, and hung up.

Remy had no sooner closed his phone when it rang right in his hand. "Bonjour?"

"Heya, Rems, it's Asher. I heard you wuz back. You gots a minute? Simone's in real bad shape."

Gambit stopped in his tracks, making a sudden reversal as he instantly changed direction. Damn, in his excitement he had forgotten about the little guy. Still true to his own semi-Siskan nature, they would always take priority. "Be right dere. Where he at?"

"Med Labs."

To be continued in Lost and Found.


End file.
